Authors: Melissa Glazer
It all came back so vividly. Jenna had been widowed six years before, and her late husband had left her extremely well off. The law had lost its appeal with his demise, and she’d opted for early retirement from the bench. Jenna had walked into the shop searching for something a year later, and she’d apparently found it with our little group.
“That’s just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say,” I said.
“Then Bill’s in trouble. He’s not exactly a ‘roses and poetry’ kind of fellow, is he?”
“No, but I love him just the same.” I took a bite of my sandwich, tacked on a sip of water, then said, “If you’re ready to tell me your news, I’m fine now.”
Jenna stared at the brook a minute before answering. “I hesitate to mention this, because it’s really nothing more than a courthouse rumor. Still, it might give you some insight into Betty’s killer, and I truly do want to help. It’s just that I abhor gossip.”
“Don’t think of it that way, then. You’re just sharing information.”
“I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you happen to know Tamra Gentry?”
“Who doesn’t? I don’t mean I know her personally, but I do know that she has more money than the bank, and she got away with murder, too, didn’t she?” Rumor had it that Tamra Gentry was wealthy beyond all dreams of avarice. Unfortunately, she also had a penchant for nineteen-year-old men. That wasn’t necessarily a problem when she was twenty, but she’d been fifty-seven when she’d chosen her last one, and he was a bad sort, at that. There were rumors that Tamra had tried and failed to fully hide unexplained bruises on her arms and face more than once before her latest paramour turned up murdered. The newspaper had tried and convicted her with their reporting of the homicide—discounting the apparent batterings—but a jury had deadlocked on the case. With no verdict one way or the other and no retrial likely because of the expense involved, Tamra had walked away a free woman.
“She wasn’t convicted, but she wasn’t found innocent, either. The problem is, I shouldn’t know this, but one of the bailiffs at the courthouse accidentally overheard something he shouldn’t have. Betty Wickline served as forewoman on that jury, and ironically enough, she had the one ‘not guilty’ vote of the twelve that locked them in a hopeless mess.”
I could see Betty opposing the majority out of pure cussedness, and I didn’t doubt she’d stepped into the forewoman’s position by simply volunteering. I’d served on a few juries myself, and I’d even been talked into leading the jury room’s discussions once. I hadn’t served on a murder case, though. Mine had been an inflated charge of conveying threats, and it was so obvious who was lying and who was telling the truth, one witness would have made Pinocchio’s nose proud.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it? You knew Betty. She could be as stubborn as anyone when it came to her opinion.”
“That’s not all. The bailiff—and I’m not going to tell you his name, so don’t ask—saw something suspicious, though he could never prove it. After the jury was dismissed, he was in the parking lot sneaking a cigarette before the next case. He was behind some bushes, since he’s not supposed to be seen smoking on the grounds, and he saw Tamra’s attorney say something to Betty at her car.”
“What could he have said?”
“My friend braced the attorney on it, but he claimed he was just warning her about a tire that was nearly flat. When Betty corroborated the story, there was nothing he could do about it, but he’s wondered about it ever since.”
“Is there any chance it was as innocent as they both claimed?”
Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Not likely. You might want to look into Betty’s bank accounts, if there’s any way you can manage that without a court order. I’d be interested to see if there were any large deposits made right after the case. Jury tampering is an ugly thing, but I know it happens.”
“It’s too late to prove it now, isn’t it?”
“They might not be able to prosecute now that their star witness is dead, but I’d love to put some pressure on that lawyer, Joe McGrath. He argued a few cases before me, and I never trusted him.” She finished her sandwich. “It might not be anything, but I thought you should know.”
“Thanks. As a matter of fact, Sandy discovered that Betty was living way beyond her means. A little blackmail might just explain her inflated income.”
Jenna shook her head. “I wonder if most people realize just how dangerous the Internet is in the hands of a skilled reference librarian.”
“They probably wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if they did,” I said. I finished my sandwich as well. “Thanks for lunch, and for the information. I hope you didn’t bend your ethics for me.”
“I wouldn’t do that, and you know it, but I’m willing to help any way I can.”
“I appreciate that,” I said.
I had some new information, and an increased respect and affection for Jenna. I knew how seriously she took the law, and she’d not only managed to refrain from lecturing me on letting the sheriff handle the investigation himself, but she’d also actively gone out in search of information to help me. It was wonderful having friends like her.
Back at the shop, David handed me a note on his way out the door for a quick bite of his own. I didn’t even glance at it as I asked, “Were you busy while I was gone?”
He shook his head. “We might as well have locked up and gone together. The only thing I did was take that phone message. Well, that’s not strictly true. I did clean up some in back, but we didn’t have any customers. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, David. They’ll come back. Just give them a little time.” It was a fake batch of courage I was trying to sell. The drastic drop in business
was
worrying me. Did folks around town actually believe I could have had something to do with Betty’s death? Why else would they stay away in droves? Or was it just a seasonal lull, one I normally embraced? Either way, I couldn’t be sure.
After David was gone, I glanced at the note. It was from Martha. With five children—three of them still too young for school—I marveled that she had any time or energy for anything else, let alone snooping around for me.
I called her right back. “Hi, Martha, I just got your message.”
“Hey, Carolyn. Could you give me a few minutes here? The twins are refusing to eat their lunch, and I’m about to give up and just let them go hungry.” Martha was the most caring and nurturing soul I knew. She loved her children more than life itself, but even a saint’s patience can wear thin on occasion.
“I’ll be here for the rest of the afternoon,” I said. “Call me back when you can.”
In the background, I heard one of the twins shouting, “I won’t. I won’t. I won’t.” A second later, her fraternal twin chimed in, and Martha hung up without saying good-bye. I’d always dreamed of having twins, but when the time came, I was thankful my boys came one at a time. I didn’t know how she managed it.
I was refilling some of the squeeze bottles with glaze when the telephone rang. “Fire at Will,” I said as I re-capped one.
“Sorry about that,” Martha said, her voice much calmer than it had been before.
“Hey, you’ve got a lot going on there, no need to apologize,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I heard something kind of tawdry that might help you.”
“Even if it doesn’t, I’m always in the mood for tawdry. Where’d you pick up this juicy little item?”
“I was asking some innocent questions at Mommy Time. You wouldn’t believe some of things I heard about Betty Wickline.” Mommy Time was Maple Ridge’s gathering place for the most diverse group of mothers, and some fathers, too. While they played together with their children, the parents covered topics from A to Z. I wished they would have had something like that when I was home alone raising the boys. Being a stay-at-home mom was the most isolating experience of my life, and while I loved my sons, I leapt for joy when my youngest went to preschool. There was no separation anxiety there. I was ready to get out in the world again.
“Tell me,” I said.
“It seems Betty had a new man in her life. The other night, Ryan Glade was out jogging and found Betty in her car with the windows steamed up. Only she wasn’t alone.”
“She had a house of her own. Why on earth would she carry on like a teenager in a parked car?”
“I asked that myself,” Martha said. “Apparently, Ryan mentioned spotting her the next day, and Betty panicked until she realized that Ryan hadn’t seen her partner. That’s when Betty hinted smugly that the man in question wouldn’t want to be seen with her in public. The only reason I can think of is that he might be married to someone else. Do you think that could have some bearing on the case?”
“It’s certainly worth looking into. Thanks, Martha, I appreciate this.”
“Always glad to help.” In the background, I heard a sudden burst of crying, coming through the telephone like it was in stereo. “I’ve got to go,” she said abruptly.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“It’s the twins. I don’t see any blood, so at least that’s something.”
She hung up before I could get any more information out of her. I wouldn’t have traded my life for Martha’s if there were a million-dollar bonus attached.
I couldn’t exactly wait on customers I didn’t have, and I didn’t feel like doing any pottery work myself, so I grabbed my sketch notebook from my office and turned to a fresh page. Maybe writing down my thoughts would help. So far, I’d found out that Betty had more money than she should have, had an ex who wanted her off his payroll, may have taken a bribe or was blackmailing the richest woman in our county, and was having an affair with a possibly very married man. The woman led a more active life in the last six months than I had in fifty-odd years.
The problem, as I saw it now, was to find out who in Maple Ridge
didn’t
have a reason to kill Betty Wickline.
“I can see you’re just buried in work. Should I take the rest of the day off to save you some money?” David, back from his own late lunch, was earnest in his request, and for a second, I thought about taking him up on his offer. But then I suddenly had a better idea.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you stay here and keep the shop open, and I’ll see what I can come up with on Betty Wickline’s murder?”
“Should you be doing that alone? We can lock the shop, and I’ll come with you.”
“I appreciate that, but I can’t afford to lose the income, just in case someone comes by.” That was true enough, but I also didn’t want to have to explain to Hannah how I’d managed to drag her son into the murder investigation. I couldn’t afford to lose my best friend over this. If it came to that, I’d rather lose my business.
He looked duly disappointed, so I had to throw him some kind of bone. “Why don’t you experiment with that new glaze you’ve been trying to develop?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Be my guest. Just remember, write down everything you do, and make small batches. Those custom glazes and pigments you’re playing with can get expensive.”
“I will. I promise.” David had been trying for months to come up with a signature color for his work, a new shade or hue he could call his own. I understood Hannah’s desire to see her only child get a degree in something he could use, but David was a born potter and glazer, and it would be a shame if those talents had to take a backseat to a career he didn’t want. But, as I told myself a thousand times, I’d raised my boys, and I wasn’t about to take on David as well. He and his mother were going to have to work it out between them without any interference from me. At least not much. Honestly, I was trying to stay out of it, but really, who can stand idly by when they see someone they care about making a mistake? No, I knew I could really muck things up, despite my good intentions, and if it had been January, I would have made it a New Year’s resolution to butt out of their affairs. At least I was going to try.
Now I had a free afternoon to investigate. It was time to determine which of the leads the Firing Squad had given me might point me toward Betty Wickline’s murderer.
As I walked around town, I ran into Herman Meadows coming out of Rose Colored Glasses. “Shouldn’t you be working?” he said. “You didn’t shut down the pottery shop, did you?”
“David’s watching the store. Is this one of yours, too?” I asked as I gestured to the stained-glass shop.
“Sure is. I’ve got Hattie’s Attic, this place, yours, and In the Grounds. That’s just in this part of Vermont. I’ve also got some property in North Carolina.”
“Did you inherit that as well?”
He drew himself up to his full five-and-a-half-foot height. “I’ll have you know that I’ve done more with my life than just sit around collecting rent. I’ve got dreams, Carolyn, and I’m making them happen.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
He frowned, then it abruptly turned into a grin. “That’s okay. I guess I’m still a little touchy. My aunt called me up this morning and chewed me out. She said I wasn’t ambitious enough, and I guess she kind of pushed my buttons. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“I don’t mind,” I said.
“Well, I gotta go. I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today.”
I wished I could say the same thing, but if I did, I’d be lying.
As far as the murder investigation was concerned, the afternoon was a total failure. I’d tried to strike up conversations with a dozen different folks I knew, but all I got for my trouble was a handful of rushed good-byes and a few outright snubs. Did these people actually think I could have killed Betty Wickline? Their reactions frustrated me on so many levels. I’d been born and raised in Maple Ridge, I’d raised two sons and owned my own business for years, yet I was being treated like an outcast. I wasn’t used to being a pariah in my own hometown. Still, if anything, my new status only fueled my drive to find out who really had killed Betty.
Thoroughly disgusted with the folks I thought were my friends, I made my way back to Fire at Will. As I strolled along the brook walk, I suddenly realized I’d been ignoring my best source for gossip in all of Maple Ridge. If there was something going on in the shadows of our quaint old town, there was one woman who would surely know about it. It was time to brace Kendra Williams in her own little lion’s den.
Hattie’s Attic contained the most eclectic collection of goods for sale I’d ever seen in my life. There were some truly wonderful pieces buried in the aisles of chairs, signs, baskets, woodworking tools, and a myriad of other old things, but there were also some items of doubtful heritage and shady authenticity. The place was a little too dark for my tastes, its dim lighting reminding me of my grand-mother’s parlor, and I couldn’t imagine how Kendra spent so much time there. Then again, she probably wondered the same thing about me and all my messy glazes and clay.
I didn’t see Kendra when I first walked into Hattie’s Attic. Then I spotted a movement in back by the vintage clothing. Was she actually hiding from me?
“Kendra, come out here right now.”
Her nose poked out of the racks. “What do you want, Carolyn? I’ve got a customer coming any second to pick up an armoire. He’s bringing three of his friends to help him.” The woman was absolutely cowering.
I started walking toward where she was hiding.
“I mean it,” she shouted. “They’ll be here any second.”
“Then we don’t have long, do we? Kendra, you know this town better than anyone alive. I need your help.”
There was a ruffling sound in the clothes as she started to inch slowly forward. “What do you want to know?”
“Was Betty Wickline seeing anyone? I’m interested in a married man in particular.”
I saw a brief flash of a smile from Kendra, and I knew I had her. Even if she believed in her heart that I’d killed Betty, her desire to spread gossip was greater than her need for personal safety. “Why do you want to know?” she asked as she stepped free of the racks.
“Because I have to find out who killed Betty before I go broke. Nobody’s coming to my shop, and half the town won’t even speak to me.”
“So you’re going to try to find the killer on your own?” She sounded incredulous.
“I am, with a little help from my friends.” I choked back a breath as I added, “Like you.”
She approached me and held my shoulders with both hands. “Carolyn, I never doubted you. You can count on me.”
I think I liked her better when she was cowering in the clothes. “So, have you heard anything?”
“There have been rumors for the last few weeks, but I haven’t been able to pin anything down.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. If Kendra didn’t know, I had no idea how I was going to find out.
“Don’t give up that easily. I never had a reason to push for the information until now. Give me until noon tomorrow and I’ll have an answer for you. I’m so glad you came to me, Carolyn.”
I had to get out of there, and the stale smell of the place wasn’t the only reason. “Let me know as soon as you can, okay?”
“I will. You can count on me,” she said again.
I left, fighting the urge to run back to my shop. There was someone else I could talk to, but it would take the guts of a con man to do it. If I could speak with Tamra Gentry, I might be able to discover if she had a reason to want Betty Wickline dead.
Tamra’s mansion sat on the ridge full of maples our town had been named for. It was almost as if she was looking down on the rest of us from her lofty aerie. Lovely maples dotted the hillside, and in the autumn, their blazing leaves made the mountain look as though it were on fire. Her house was grand, a three-story colonial with massive white columns in front. I rang the bell, suddenly a little nervous about the way I was dressed. While my slacks, blouse, and jacket were good enough for everyday life, I felt more than a little underdressed at the moment.
To my surprise, an actual butler answered the door, and he managed to register his disdain for my interruption with nothing more than the slightest movement of his upper lip. “Yes?” he said, making the word sound more like an invocation than a query.
“I’d like to see Mrs. Gentry, please.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“No,” I said. I had to have some reason for calling on her. I mean, other than the real one. I said the first thing that came into my mind. “I’m here fundraising for the elementary school.”
“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Gentry is indisposed. Perhaps if you’d call later for an appointment.”
He was just closing the door when I heard Tamra’s voice. “James, who is it?”
Before he could answer, she brushed past him. I’d met Tamra a few times in the past, but our social circles didn’t exactly coincide. She was a striking woman, even without the cosmetic surgery. Her hair was like spun platinum, and her carriage was haughtily erect. I only hoped I’d look half that good when I was her age.
“I know you,” she said lightly. “You run that quaint little shop in the village.”
“Fire at Will,” I admitted.
“What a delightful name. Well, don’t just stand there. Come in. James, we’ll have coffee in the parlor. Unless you’d prefer tea,” she said, looking at me. “I have some wonderful blends.”
“Coffee’s fine,” I said.
“Wonderful. Come now, don’t tarry.”
I followed her into the living room, trying to take in all of the real antiques along the way. Despite the evidence to the contrary about her choice in men, in other things, Tamra Gentry had excellent taste. The theme in the living room was Queen Anne–style furniture, and an original Monet hung on one wall. The Oriental rug covering the mahogany floors was so lush I wanted to kick off my shoes and walk barefoot on it, but I doubted my hostess would appreciate that.
Tamra sat down on a settee and patted the spot beside her. “I heard something about a fundraiser,” she said. “What is the village up to now?”
She was so light and breezy with her conversation style I hardly noticed her condescending tone. I said the first thing that popped into my head. “They’re updating their book collection in the school library at the elementary school. The old ones are dated and falling apart.”
I had no idea whether it was true, but it sounded like a believable reason for my visit.
“That’s just dreadful,” she said in that same birdsong cadence. I could imagine her declaring the end of the world with the same airy tone. “I’m a huge fan of the written word.”
“I hate to trouble you with it,” I said.
“It’s no bother at all. I’m rattling around this place with no one to talk to but James, and his interest in conversation is rather limited. To be honest with you, I’m happy for the diversion. So tell me, what’s going on down in the village?”
It was the perfect opportunity, and one I wasn’t about to waste. “Betty Wickline was murdered. Have you heard about that? You knew Betty, didn’t you?”
She frowned, though no lines formed on her tightened features. “No, I can’t say I recall the name.”
“I believe she sat on the jury during your murder trial.”
I’d been hoping for some kind of reaction, but all of the plastic surgery she’d had must have given Tamra an incredible poker face because her expression did not change in the slightest. “I don’t dwell on the unpleasantness of the past,” she said.
“Your attorney knew her,” I said abruptly. “Someone spotted them talking right after the case.”
“Then perhaps you should speak with him,” she said softly, then added, “Ah, here’s our coffee. You may pour, James.”
It was an excellent brew, and there were the most delightful cookies on the tray as well. I found myself swept up in idle conversation, and only too late, I realized I’d told the woman much more about myself than she had told me about her. She was as skillful an interrogator as I’d ever seen. Sheriff Hodges could take lessons from her.
After our repast, she ushered me out the door without a single opportunity to follow up with more questions about Betty’s death. The woman was smooth, I had to give her that.
As I was about to leave, James suddenly appeared with something in his hands. Tamra glanced at it, signed it, then gave it to me. “That should do nicely, don’t you think?”
It was a check for five thousand dollars, made out to the Maple Ridge Library Book Fund. Blast it all, now I’d have to convince the principal that they needed new books, and somehow explain how I’d started this fundraiser in the first place without consulting her.
I wasn’t ready to go home yet, though if we were going to eat on time, I’d have to get started making dinner pretty soon. Bill, bless his heart, had tried to learn to cook when he’d officially retired, but the only thing the man could make with any consistency were pancakes and scrambled eggs. He’d made a standing offer to me that any time I didn’t want to cook or eat out, he’d provide the dinner, but it was a rare night I was willing to face either one of his specialties.
I wondered where I could find Betty’s ex-husband, Larry Wickline. Butch had tracked him down at a bar, but I wasn’t eager to brace the man in one myself. Not that I’m a teetotaler. I like the odd glass of wine on occasion, but I got mine from the grocery store, not from a pub. I scatted back to the shop to look up Larry’s number in the phone book. Miracle of miracles, David was actually helping a customer at the cash register when I walked in! When she turned around, I saw that it was Cindy Maitland, one of the waitresses from the coffee shop.
“Don’t mind me, I just need something in my office.”
David was oblivious, but Cindy actually blushed. “I was just leaving.”
“Don’t rush off on my account.” Gad, now I was driving customers away from my shop.
She said, “I was on my break, but I need to get back.” As she was leaving, she turned to David and said, “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay. Come back any time.”
After she was gone, I said offhandedly, “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
“If you like redheads,” he said absently.
“That’s right, you prefer brunettes. Or should I say, one brunette in particular?”
“Don’t start, Carolyn.”