This Old Homicide (9 page)

“I think so.”

“The iniquity suits you, too.”

Chuckling, he slung his arm around my shoulders and we strolled to the stairs leading up to the front porch. As he unlocked the door, I heard a squealing sound.

“Those hinges need to be oiled.”

“Yeah.” After a long moment of struggling with the front door key, he got the door opened.

“I’ll check that lock on my next trip out here,” I murmured as I walked inside. “It’s probably rusty from years of neglect.”

“Same goes for a bunch of stuff around here.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I said, glancing around.

He followed my gaze. “The most important thing before I move in is to get the roof fixed and update the kitchen as much as the Planning Commission will allow.”

“I don’t think they’ll care too much what we do to the kitchen,” I said. “As I mentioned before, they’re mostly concerned that we stay true to the original exterior look and also be mindful of the interior walls. In a lot of Victorians, the rooms are compartmentalized, and the first thing new owners want to do is open them up. But the interior walls are often load-bearing, so it can present a problem.”

His lips twisted into a frown. “I was hoping we could open up the wall between the master bedroom and that second bedroom to make room for a sitting area. Doesn’t have to be big, but I’d like to have a couch and a chair, at least, for sitting around upstairs. And I’d like a walk-in closet. Not that I’m a clotheshorse, but the closets are way too small. I like having the extra space.”

“Let’s see what it looks like.” I walked into the kitchen and spread the stack of blueprints out on the counter. I rifled through them until I found the second-floor plan and spread it out. After a minute of studying the line drawing, I said, “Here’s the master bedroom, and, yeah, this is a load-bearing wall. But look. Instead of tearing out this entire wall, we could build a wide doorway here and another regular doorway here.” I used my pencil to point out the spots. “This area would be your sitting room, and this here would be the closet. You could add French doors or just leave it all open. We’ll add a four-inch molding around the doors and crown molding at the top to make it look really elegant.”

He stared at the drawing, then nodded. “So it’ll be more like a suite of rooms. I could live with that.”

“We can run upstairs and take a closer look if you want to.”

“Okay, but first I want to look at the electrical plan. My biggest concern is that the wiring is updated. I need super-high-speed Internet along with every cable channel known to man.” He grinned wryly. “Gotta keep my finger on the pulse of popular culture.”

“Right.” I found the electrical plan and spread it out, bending the ends back and forth to flatten it enough to keep it from rolling. “We’re required by law to rewire the whole house because it’s still got the original knob-and-tube wiring throughout.”

“I wouldn’t even know what that was if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” he said, referring to the old-fashioned ceramic tubes and knobs that held electrical wires in place. “It’s a miracle the house hasn’t burned to the ground by now.”

I tapped my pencil on the drawing. “It looks like most of the upstairs rooms only have one outlet each, so we’ll add one or two more to each wall. And same goes for the light sockets. We can revamp the lighting to make it whatever you want it to be.”

“Good.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You want to go upstairs and look around?”

“Sure.” I made a few quick notes on the electrical blueprint, then rolled it back up with the rest of the stack. Glancing around the kitchen, I spied a cabinet on the far wall. “And before we leave, I want to check out the dumbwaiter.”

“Is that what that is? Cool.”

I turned and took one step—and screamed.

A tiny white rat skittered across the floor, ran right between my feet, and escaped into the living room. It might have been sort of cute—if I weren’t so horribly freaked out by rats. Even a tiny one that looked like a family pet.

It was lowering to admit it, but I scrambled out of the room and ran straight out the front door. Mac followed right behind me. I didn’t stop moving until I reached his SUV, where I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered uncontrollably.

“Sorry,” I muttered, when I could speak again. “Rats creep me out, no matter what size they are.”

“They creep me out, too.” He pulled me close and we huddled together for a long time in silence.

“Call me a wimp,” I said finally, rubbing my arms to get rid of the goose bumps. “But I don’t think I can go back inside. If there’s one rat, there’s probably more.”

Mac nodded in understanding. “I’ll call the Pied Piper.”

I gulped. “I know a guy.”

He smiled. “Of course you do.”

The Bittermans had arranged a lovely service in the somber granite-walled auditorium on their sprawling property. The American flag was draped over Jesse’s casket at the front of the room, and chairs fanned out from there. Everyone who attended received a beautiful program designed by Marigold.

I had plenty of time to make some casual observations during the hour-long service.

The mayor and several members of the town council spoke, as did some of Jesse’s closest friends, including his two oldest buddies, Bob Madderly and Ned Darby. I’d met them a few times in the past when they got together over at Jesse’s house, so I recognized them. These were the two men who’d gone scuba diving with Jesse on his seventy-fifth birthday.

Both men were around Jesse’s age, but Ned appeared to be younger, taller and healthier than Bob. Ned also struck me as the more formal of the two, with his patrician profile, thick gray hair and charming smile. Bob had a bit of a gut, but despite the paunch, he seemed to be a spry old coot with a devilish gleam in his eye, very much like Jesse. I liked them both straightaway. Ned had briefly introduced his son, Stephen, to us before the service began. Stephen was probably about thirty-five years old, tall and nice-looking like his father, with sandy-colored hair and warm brown eyes.

Glancing around the filled room, I noticed three young uniformed servicemen standing in the back. At the end of Ned’s eulogy, Mr. Bitterman said a few more words followed by a short prayer. Then he left the podium and two of the military men approached the casket from either end. They took hold of the flag and began to fold it, first lengthwise, then back and forth in a triangle pattern, thirteen times, until there were only stars showing. As they folded, the third serviceman began to play a haunting rendition of Taps on his trumpet. It was a poignant performance with the notes echoing through the granite-walled room, giving me goose bumps.

The last man holding the flag tucked the edges securely into the fold, walked over to Jane, and presented it to her.

“On behalf of the President of the United States and the Chief of Naval Operations,” he said, “please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s service to this country and to a grateful navy.”

“Thank you,” Jane whispered, her eyes wet with tears. She wasn’t the only one. I was sniffling like crazy and I was willing to bet everyone else had shed a tear during that touching moment.

A minute later, Blake Bitterman announced that the indoor service was ended and quickly segued to the procedure to be followed for anyone accompanying Jesse’s casket to the burial plot.

Before the service, the girls and I had agreed that at least one of us would stay close by Jane’s side at all times. She was usually so capable and strong, but all of these rituals had to be agonizing for her.

Lizzie and I accompanied her to the burial ceremony while Emily and Marigold rushed over to the Inn on Main Street, a lovely old hotel where the reception would be held in the main banquet room.

A few of Emily’s employees at the tea shop were helping out the Inn’s permanent staff and would surely have everything under control so that once the two girls arrived, they would only have to check that each guest had plenty to drink and nibble on.

Jane and I showed up an hour later, after a brief, sad ceremony at the grave site. We were both surprised and pleased at the number of people who’d come to the Inn to pay their respects. A few of them, mostly old navy friends, had traveled up from San Diego in Southern California.

Jane did a quick survey of the kitchen, said hello to the staff, and then joined the gathering in the main room. The first thing she did was find Bob and Ned.

“Your words were so wonderful,” she said, hugging them both. “Thank you so much. Jesse would’ve loved hearing what you said.”

“I think he would’ve,” Ned said, “if only because that would mean the son of a gun was still here with us.”

Bob chuckled. “I think he is anyway. After all, they’re serving his favorite Irish whiskey at the bar.”

“You may be right about that.” Ned turned and grabbed his son’s arm. “Stephen, let me introduce you to Jesse’s niece. Jane Hennessey, this is my son, Stephen Darby.”

“We met briefly before the service,” Jane said, shaking his hand. “Hello, Stephen.”

I was standing next to Jane, so I had a good view of Stephen’s expression as he was introduced to her. He appeared instantly smitten, which was not surprising since Jane was a tall, beautiful blonde with a kind heart and a ready smile.

“Stephen’s a financial planner,” Ned said proudly, “so if you have any money problems, talk to him.”

Stephen rolled his eyes at his father and turned to Jane. “I’m no longer working in finance. My father tends to forget that I recently graduated from the Culinary Institute and have become a chef.”

“A chef?” I said, before Jane could react. “How fun.”

“I feel I was born to do it.”

“That’s exciting, but quite a departure from the world of finance,” Jane said. “Are you planning to work somewhere in Northern California?”

“He plans to work in Lighthouse Cove,” Ned explained before Stephen could answer for himself. “He got a job up here so he could be closer to me.”

“That’s so nice,” I said to Ned.

“He’s a good kid,” Ned said, elbowing his son good-naturedly. “He’s about to start working at some French place. What’s the name, son?”

“Tre Mondrian,” Stephen said, smiling indulgently at his dad for calling him a “kid.”

It was pretty obvious that his father wished he’d remained a financial planner, but Stephen apparently loved cooking more. And who didn’t like a guy who could cook?

“Tre Mondrian is a wonderful restaurant,” I said, thinking of the one meal I’d had there a few years ago. It was very expensive but worth it. Nowadays, reservations were required three months in advance and plenty of people drove all the way up from San Francisco just to have dinner there.

“I’m really stoked about it,” Stephen said. “I’ll start out as a sous-chef, but I’m hoping to move up the ladder eventually.”

“Have you found a place to live in the area yet?” Jane asked politely.

“I’m still looking. I’ll probably stay in a hotel or rent a room for a few months, then buy something.”

“I’d offer you a room at Hennessey House, my new bed-and-breakfast in town,” she said lightly, “but we haven’t even opened yet and we’re already booked for the first two months.”

“I wish I’d known,” Stephen said, staring intently at Jane. He couldn’t seem to look anywhere else.

“Jane,” Ned said, “you should talk to Stephen about Jesse’s estate. He can advise you on the best investment strategies in this fluctuating market.”

“Dad, I’m not doing that work anymore.” Stephen looked at Jane. “But I’d be happy to help you with anything you need.”

She smiled. “Thank you, but I have a financial consultant. And honestly, Jesse didn’t leave me much worth worrying about.”

“His house has got to be worth something,” Ned said.

“Please excuse my father,” Stephen said, smiling. “He has a one-track mind sometimes.”

Ned held up both hands in good-natured surrender. “Okay, I can take a hint. But it’s not just the house. There might be items inside the house that could be worth something. You might have to hunt for them, though. Jesse liked to hide his treasures away from prying eyes.”

“Do you know something I don’t know?” Jane asked, her tone playful.

“No, no,” Ned said, laughing. “But you know Jesse. He was always telling stories about his exploits. Who’s to say he didn’t bring home some booty from those adventures?”

“I always called Jesse’s tales a stretch of the truth,” Bob added, flashing us a grin. “It would serve us all right if he really did have some treasure tucked away somewhere.”

I exchanged a quick glance with Jane. Did these two men know something about the break-in? I found it hard to believe they had anything to do with it, but they’d both made it sound as if Jesse had something worth stealing.

They were probably capable of breaking into the house, but there was no way they could’ve done all that damage. Ned’s son, Stephen, on the other hand, looked strong enough to pound holes through walls.

But why? I shoved my suspicious thoughts away and walked over to the bar with Ned and Bob, where I left them to chat with one of the people visiting from San Diego.

As I took a sip of juice, Emily sidled up next to me. “Who’s the tall, good-looking stranger?”

I turned and saw Ned’s son still talking to Jane, his eyes riveted on her.

“His name’s Stephen,” I said quietly. “He’s the son of Ned, one of Jesse’s old navy buddies. He used to be a financial planner but quit to become a chef at Tre Mondrian.”

“Ooh la la,” she whispered. “He seems smitten with our Jane.”

“I believe he might be.”

We watched them interact for another minute. Stephen seemed charming and Jane could certainly use a distraction. I just hoped she didn’t get hurt. She had a romantic soul and believed in her heart that someday she would find her one true love. We teased her that she got that delusional idea from reading too many romance novels at an impressionable age, but she always insisted there was no such thing as too many romances.

I really hoped she’d meet her one true love someday. It was just bizarre to think she might meet him at a funeral.

Ned summoned his son to the bar to talk to someone else, and Jane was left alone. Emily and I hurried over to join her.

“He’s awfully cute,” Emily whispered loudly.

Jane smiled. “Yes, isn’t he?” She still looked a little dazed, but I didn’t think it was from talking to Stephen—even though he was indeed cute. No, I was pretty sure the events of the last week were catching up to her. She’d been going nonstop, ever since I called to tell her about Jesse. She had to be emotionally drained.

I glanced over to where Stephen and his father were talking together. Both men were frowning and I wondered what their topic of discussion might be.

Before I could speculate further, my father and Uncle Pete walked into the room. I waved and marched over to greet them.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said, enveloping me in a big hug.

Uncle Pete did the same, whispering, “This is a lousy way to spend an afternoon.”

“Don’t I know it?” I said. “How’re you guys holding up?”

Dad shrugged. “I had some of the fellas over for a wake of sorts last night. We told stories about Jesse and tried to keep each other laughing.”

“Jesse would’ve enjoyed himself,” Uncle Pete said, chuck- ling.

“I assume the whiskey was flowing.”

“Whiskey?” Dad looked affronted. “Hell, no. You know we only drink iced tea and lemonade.”

I laughed. “Of course. How could I forget?”

He grinned. “You’re forgiven. Listen, sweetie, we’re going to mingle for a little while and pay our respects to Janey. Then we’ll be heading out to the winery. I’ll be there for the next week or so, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right.” I’d forgotten Dad was helping to design the new reserve tasting room off the main hall of Uncle Pete’s popular winery. I’d seen the architect’s renderings and knew it was going to be a spectacular room. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. But you can call or drive out there anytime you want.” He added, “I’ve always got an extra set of tools.”

I laughed. “Thanks for the offer. I might take you up on it, but things are pretty busy around here these days.”

“I know the company’s doing great,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek and watched him drift through the crowd until he found Jane and gave her a warm hug. I crisscrossed the room, smiling and greeting friends and acquaintances as I moved. At the bar, I traded in my juice for a glass of water and sipped it slowly, happy to be alone with my thoughts for a moment.

I set my glass on the tray next to the bar and turned to look for Jane. Dad and Uncle Pete had moved on and Jane was standing by herself. None of our friends was nearby, so I walked briskly across the room to keep her company. But just as I reached her side, an older woman approached.

“Jane?” she asked, her voice tentative.

“Yes?”

Glancing at me, she said, “I hope I’m not interrupting. I’m Althea Tannis. I was a friend of Jesse’s. I wanted to express my condolences for your loss.”

“You’re not interrupting,” I said, and stepped back a few inches to give her clear access to Jane. Althea Tannis was a pretty woman somewhere in her fifties or sixties, wearing an attractive black pantsuit with a dark gray silk shirt. The suit was perfectly tailored and showed off her slim figure. Her shoulder-length blond hair was held back by a black velvet headband.

“Hello, Althea.” Jane shook her hand and the woman held on to it.

“Jesse was a wonderful man and I’m so grateful I had the chance to spend time with him before…” She sniffled and delicately blew her nose into her lacy white linen handkerchief. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right.” Jane smiled attentively. “Did you know Uncle Jesse from the navy?”

“No, no.” Althea’s eyes were filling with tears and she quickly blinked them away. “Oh gosh, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but…”

“You won’t cry alone today,” I said.

That brought a brief smile to her face. “No, I probably won’t.”

“Oh, Althea, this is Shannon Hammer.”

We said our hellos.

“Shannon is one of my dearest friends and she was also Jesse’s next-door neighbor,” Jane explained as part of a more formal introduction. “She knew him her whole life.”

Althea shook my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shannon, despite the circumstances.”

“He was a sweet guy and a wonderful neighbor,” I said. “I miss him every day.”

“I do, too.”

“Tell me how you knew Uncle Jesse,” Jane prompted her.

“Oh, well, we met a few months ago in a senior aerobics class, believe it or not. We were all hot and sweaty—and I don’t mean that in a particularly glamorous way.” She laughed lightly and we joined her. “But we hit it off. And for the past six months, we’ve been… well, I guess you could say we were dating. If anyone our age actually dates anymore.”