Last Wool and Testament: A Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery Page 17

  “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

  “Did 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.

  “It might be better to avoid him altogether.”

  “If at all possible, yes. Now, may I offer you some advice?”

  “I’d be honored.”

  “Don’t go through Ivy’s house alone.”

  “I’m pretty sure a deputy or somebody will follow me around so I can tell them if anything’s missing.”

  She held a finger to her lips and indicated Homer’s office with a jerk of her head. “Is he back yet?” she whispered.

  I sidled to the door, listened, then nudged it open and looked around the edge. I heard the mumble of Homer’s and another voice from the kitchenette. That door was closed. “Coast is clear.”

  She beckoned me back to her desk. “A witness is a powerful weapon,” she said. “I know this from personal experience. Have someone else with you when you go. Someone you can trust.”

  It was good advice, delivered with solemn furrows between her eyebrows. I nodded and thanked her. She smiled, erasing the furrows, and winked, the wink made more conspiratorial by the magnification of her lenses.

  The mumble of voices from the kitchenette clarified and we heard Homer offer a parting commiseration over the joys of plumbing in old buildings. I glanced at Ernestine. She smoothed the blotter in the middle of her desk and went back to peering at her computer screen and pecking at the keyboard. An odd little old duck, Ms. Ernestine O’Dell.

  There was something else I’d meant to ask Homer. I dithered, in limbo, betwee
n Ernestine’s desk and his office, trying to remember what. Something not for Clod’s ears. About the house. Granny’s sunny house disappearing into this dismally bad dream. Funny that when a situation looked blackest it could surprise you by getting even blacker. Black. That was it. I knocked on Homer’s door.

  He looked up from his sheaf of notes. “Kath, I thought you’d left. Come in. Shut the door.” Ever polite, he stood and gestured to a chair.

  I shook my head. “Just one quick thing.”

  “If only that were true. Unfortunately, I think we’ll find that it’s many more things before we’re finished. May I?” He indicated his own chair.

  “Please.”

  “We’ll get through it all, though. I promise.”

  “Well, and actually it’s two more things.” I took a steadying breath, then jumped into the first. “Deputy Dunbar just told me Max fell down Granny’s basement stairs. That’s where he died.”

  He didn’t swear again, but his rational lawyer’s reaction turned out to be more satisfying. He picked up his pen and clicked it open. Handsome Homer ready for note-taking action.

  “Interesting that Dunbar didn’t mention that pertinent fact when he told us Max was dead,” he said.

  “He implied it. It just took me a minute to catch on.”

  “He should have spelled it out. What’s the second thing?”

  “This one has a Part A and, depending on the answer to that, maybe a Part B.”

  “Ah, what did I tell you? Things are multiplying even as we speak.” He made three quick hash marks on the notepad. “Good enough. What’s Part A?”

  “Were you able to track the sale of the house?”

  “Not yet. There are irregularities that will take more time to sort out. That means more waiting, and I’m sorry. I know that isn’t easy.” He acknowledged the annoyance factor with a frown, but recovered quickly. “Does that answer suffice or is there still a Part B?”

  Did I want to lob Part B on his desk? Yes but no. If it meant regaining the house, yes. If it helped solve Emmett Cobb’s murder, yes. But if it turned Granny over to the police as a suspect? If it led anyone to discover her “secret talent”? Absolutely not. If I sounded like a crackpot reaching for straws? No answer. While those considerations knotted themselves in my head, another question occurred to me.

  “Is it possible to slander a dead man? This is Part Not-Quite-B.”

  “The law says no. You cannot slander or defame the dead.”

  “Okay. Good.” On to Part B. B for blurt it out. “Blackmail.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Maybe he thought I sneezed and there was still time to back down. I didn’t back down. “What if Granny didn’t sell the house? What if Emmett Cobb was blackmailing her?”

  Homer’s only reaction was a lawyerly stroking of his left temple with a single fingertip. “Let’s back up to Not-Quite-B. Is it possible to slander a dead man? The law says no. But what does the dead man’s family say? They cry bloody slander and defamation from the hollows to the heavens and some of them never forget. And that’s something you should never forget.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you have proof that Emmett was blackmailing Ivy?”

  “No, and I realize blackmail is a little out there. I’m just exploring possibilities.” I wanted to emulate his nonplussed calm, but sliding out the door, right then, would have made me happy. Homer was still giving blackmail his polite consideration, though.

  “I’ll agree that idea is out there, but out there or not, I suggest you don’t mention blackmail to anyone else. You don’t need the hard feelings or hostility of Emmett’s kith and kin heaped on top of everything else you’re dealing with. And I wouldn’t mention blackmail to Deputy Dunbar. You haven’t, have you?”

  “No. Zipped lips.”

  “Exactly right. Keep them zipped. Do you know, or have an idea, what Emmett could hold over Ivy?”

  I shook my head. His eyebrows and lips shifted upward in a minuscule “I see” gesture.

  “And, out of curiosity, what made you think of blackmail?”

  It was tempting to stutter something about reading too many mysteries. Then maybe he would forget I’d brought it up and the well-bred doubt playing around his eyes would disappear. But I wanted those hawk eyes looking at the idea of blackmail from every angle, no matter how unsubstantiated it was, so I stuttered out a truer answer. “I heard about it from, uh, from another possible victim.”

  He offered a quick “ah” and clicked his pen closed. “Heard in confidence, I take it?”

  Had it been in confidence? I couldn’t remember Joe asking or me promising. And yet…

  “Well,” Homer said when I’d missed my chance to nod yes convincingly, “I won’t dismiss blackmail, but I want you to leave it with me. I’m in a better—a safer—position to explore. Although, if you’ll pardon a small joke, it will be on the ‘out there’ burner rather than the front.”

  I dutifully smiled.

  “Feel free to call me with anything you hear or learn, Kath. We need to keep each other up to speed on the situation with the house and now this unfortunate situation with Max Cobb. I’ll see that we receive frequent updates from the sheriff’s office. Thank you for your input. I appreciate it and I appreciate working with someone as open as you are.”

  I wished I’d kept Part B to myself. He hadn’t laughed at it. He was too professional, too polite. But as I turned to leave, I was pretty sure I saw the ghost of a smile flit and die on his face.

  Ernestine fluttered a good-bye and I left the building wondering how Homer would react if I were completely open with him. Would his lawyer face slip if he read Granny’s letter? How would he handle an introduction to my new friend, Ms. Ghost? Hoo boy. I shook myself to dispel thoughts of ghosts and ghosts of smiles. Thinking about Ernestine’s advice would be a better use of my time.

  It made sense to have someone else along when I went through the house, someone I could count on to take my side. Whatever my side was. Maybe even keep me out of trouble. Clod’s crappy attitude toward Granny cut two ways; I didn’t trust him, either. So, who in Blue Plum could I trust? Who did I know well enough? Ardis. Possibly Mel. Debbie, Nicki, Ruth? Not really. Homer made the most sense, being the loyal and upright lawyer. But his time would cost the earth, if he even had the time.

  And I couldn’t help wondering, if witnesses were so important, why hadn’t Ernestine wanted Homer to hear her giving me that good piece of advice?

  Chapter 22

  It was still barely past nine, still quiet time in a Blue Plum morning. The touristy couple from Mel’s was across the street on the courthouse lawn. She was taking pictures of him as he tried to look dastardly in the reconstructed pillory. But they were the only people out and about who lacked an obvious business purpose.

  Toward the end of the block, the same scabby truck I’d seen the day before was parked at the curb, unless more than one rusted green pickup chucka-chuck-chugged its polluting way around town. This time it wasn’t running, my nose and lungs were happy to note, and a pair of legs in faded jeans leaned over the side, rooting around in the bed. As I passed, the jeans’ occupant struck gold.

  “Hah! I knew it was here somewhere.” He straightened, exultant, with a huge pipe wrench in his fist. I skipped sideways to avoid it. “Whoa, sorry there. Big sucker, ain’t it? Old plumbing’s no match for one of these babies.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I saw you yesterday, didn’t I? Standing over by the courthouse?”

  “Oh, you’re Mr. Carlin who’s working on Homer’s kitchenette?”

  “‘Aaron’ does me just fine. So you took my advice and went to see old Homer? That’s good. He’ll take care of you. He’s helped me out of a jam or two. Yeah, one or two or three.” He scratched the back of his head with the wrench. “Say, if you ever need odd jobs done, give me a holler. No job’s too odd. That’d be on my card if I had one. But ask Homer. He’ll put in a good word for me.”

 
; “He already has. I might call you for a moving and storage job, if you have time.”

  “Give me a holler when you’re ready and we’ll talk. I’d better get on back now. Nice meeting you.” He slung the wrench over his shoulder and whistled off down the street.

  I liked the looks of that wrench. If I carried one like that around I could ward off burglars, their brothers, or any number of Spiveys. But when had I become so weapon-happy? Probably when people started breaking into the pleasant bubble I called my life. So grow up, Kath. Real life gets broken and messy.

  I turned the corner into Main Street. Actually, I poked my head around the corner first. Acting like a grown-up was one thing. Self-preservation was another. The Spiveys could be lying in wait for me anywhere along my route to the Cat. I didn’t see them or the Buick, though, and caught no telltale whiff of Mercy. They’d probably heard the news about Max and gone to comfort Angela. Poor Angela.

  The Closed sign hung on the Cat’s door. The lights were on, though, and I saw Ardis dusting the shelves of pattern books on the far wall of the front room. She looked up when I knocked on the window and waved to her.

  “I thought you’d be over at the house first thing,” she said as she unlocked and opened the door.

  “Snafu, Ardis, with an emphasis on the fu.”

  “Come on in, then, before we attract shoppers. They’re like vampires if they catch you before opening time. Suck the life right out of the day if you let them get started this early.”

  I slipped in and she relocked the door.

  “You can help me with my mess while you tell me about yours. We had an MMIA yesterday.” She dipped behind the counter and came up with a box full of embroidery floss, all shades and colors, tumbled together like a fruit salad. There were easily several hundred hanks.

  “What’s an MMIA? A new embroidery class?”

  “Mother missing in action. She left her delightful children in the parlor with the floss while she browsed the knitting patterns upstairs. I came this close to wrapping the angora she finally bought around her neck.”