Last Wool and Testament: A Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery Page 27

  “No, this is more or less a narrative and record of contributions,” Mel said. “If all you read is the binder, you’d have no idea he was threatening anyone. He kept the secrets and corroborating evidence in the envelopes. And, although this is him telling it, it doesn’t sound as though he was even particularly greedy. Fifty dollars a month from some, a hundred from others.”

  “Until he tapped Homer,” Ardis said. “That’s when he made his mistake.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Thea said. “Emmett’s stupid started showing when he hit on Homer. Homer’s contributions were twice as much as the other contributions combined and Emmett said they’d make the difference between getting by in Blue Plum and living high in Hilton Head.”

  Rain drummed on the cottage’s tin roof and I heard Geneva singing her murk-and-gloom lullaby in the kitchen. It might have been a cozy evening in with friends.

  “Homer’s secret is worth killing for?” I asked.

  “Homer isn’t even Homer,” Ardis said. “He’s Dewey Tarwid. He’s from Pikeville, Kentucky. Here’s a picture Emmett took of Dewey Junior, who works at a gas station in Pikeville and has a child of his own. Homer’s daddy died in jail. Homer barely graduated high school.”

  “Max got back from Kentucky the morning he was killed,” I said.

  “Checking out Emmett’s story for himself?” Debbie asked.

  “Sounds like,” Thea said.

  “But law school?” I asked. “The accent?”

  “Dewey shook off the dust of Pikeville and never looked back,” Ardis said. “Took himself to Atlanta, worked days, applied himself nights, made his way through law school, and the first thing he did after graduating was legally change his name. Only thing is, he never divorced his first wife.”

  “Do you think Ruth knows?” Mel asked.

  “No and that’s what made it an even better secret,” Ardis said. “She thinks she married Homer Leroy Wood, Esquire. A regular Jimmy Carter or Atticus Finch.”

  “So we have to hurt her in order to finish this?” Thea asked.

  “Homer,” Mel said. “Homer hurt her. And he killed Emmett to keep his secret. And Max to plug the new hole. And, wait, did he kill Nicki, too?”

  “That was an accident,” I said. “Homer was right. The snakes were a warning to me so I’d forget blackmail, forget murder, and stop asking questions. Nicki was in the wrong place and completely unlucky.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Mel said. “Call the cops, Kath.”

  “But don’t bother the 911 operator, dear,” Ernestine said. “I have Cole Dunbar’s personal number.”

  Chapter 37

  Clod, of course, was overjoyed to hear from me. I was calm and polite and explained clearly and objectively what we’d decided it was safe to tell him—that we’d stumbled across important evidence in Emmett Cobb’s murder and it was essential that he hop in his car and drive through the storm to see it for himself. We’d decided not to say we knew who killed Emmett. Just in case. The “just in case” covered a number of worries ranging from legal to paranoid. I thought I put it all rather well. But Clod was still having trouble getting past the nose thing, even though we’d interacted without further damage just the evening before. Ernestine heard the way it was going and took the phone from me.

  “Cole Dunbar. This is Ms. O’Dell. You come on over here. Yes, now. Thank you, dear.” She handed the phone back to me. “He was in my Sunday school class for more years than he’d like to remember, bless his heart.”

  “I think we should put everything but the binder and Homer’s envelope back in the newel post,” Ardis said. “In case Cole wants to search the place or search us. He won’t think to look there.”

  “He wanted to know where we were stumbling around when we stumbled across the evidence, though,” I said. “What should we tell him?”

  “Under the window seat,” Geneva said. “Emmett kept jigsaw puzzles there.”

  “Really? He did jigsaw puzzles?”

  Strange looks from the others. Dang. I kept forgetting my friend wasn’t their friend.

  “Ha-ha,” I laughed lamely. “I mean, can you imagine a jigsaw-puzzle-doing blackmailer? Anyway, he kept puzzles in the window seat. We can say we found the binder and envelope there.”

  We slipped the other envelopes back into the newel. The cap went on more easily than it had come off, taking only a few good thumps from Mel’s and Thea’s fists.

  “I’ll burn them or shred them tomorrow,” I said.

  “But don’t you wonder what’s in Joe’s envelope?” Thea asked.

  “No,” Ardis said. “Lead us not into temptation. Shred them, then burn the shreds.” She gave the cap a final thump.

  “And to deliver us from evil,” Geneva called from the kitchen, “here comes Emmett’s card friend.”

  This time I remembered to wait for the knock before going to open the door. Then I hurried to let Clod in out of a renewed onslaught of rain and wind. Except it wasn’t Clod on the doorstep. It was Homer.

  “Now that’s what I call a gun,” Geneva said.

  Chapter 38

  “Cole didn’t say there were so many busybodies involved,” Homer said when he had the six of us standing at gunpoint in front of the fireplace. He looked less like a hawk then, and more like a vulture or a carrion crow. “This is more awkward than shooting only one or two, but never mind. We’ll make do. No, Kath, keep your hands where I can see them. It’s too late for the 911 call you should have made instead of calling Cole. That decision was good luck for me and stupid of you. He and I were playing our Saturday night poker game and I overheard the gist of your call. He told me the rest. Then he received a call about downed wires, which trumped yours, and here I am. It’s somewhat ironic, too, as we used to play our games here with the idiot Emmett.”

  “Oh, you’re in a fine mess, now,” Geneva said. She floated back and forth behind Homer. “And he called darling Em an idiot. How rude.”

  I almost said, “Shhh,” but changed my mind. “You thought Emmett was an idiot, Dewey? Really?”

  “Blithering. And you’re no better. I want you all to know, you can thank Kath for the predicament you’re in. I told her to have no further contact with Cole Dunbar. She didn’t listen. I told her not to involve herself, not to mention blackmail to anyone else. Now you’ll all pay the price because she did not listen. And that poor young woman. Was her name Nicki? That was unnecessary, Kath. The snakes were a warning for you. If you had listened, if you had been smart and listened to me, your friend Nicki would still be alive.”

  “But, Dewey, getting back to Emmett, how stupid was he if he found out you’re a complete fraud?”

  “Kath, what are you doing?” Ardis whispered.

  I wasn’t sure, but Geneva became more agitated every time Homer maligned Emmett.

  “He called himself a reformed alcoholic,” Homer said, “but he wasn’t reformed enough to resist the doctored bottle of gin I left for him. How smart was that? He was weak and he was stupid. He could have poured that bottle down the drain.”

  Geneva billowed behind him. If the others could have seen her they would have been impressed and trembly in the knees instead of looking at me like I might be crazy.

  “So it’s Emmett’s fault he died that horrible way? Gasping, eyes bugging out, retching, vomiting, right up there in his own bed? You killed Emmett, but it’s his fault? Dang, Dewey, I thought darling Em was your friend.”

  “Emmett Cobb was shit.”

  Geneva looked like a thunderhead. Lightning flashed, making her glow.

  “Sorry, Dewey, I didn’t hear you over the thunder.”

  “He was stinking mule shit.”

  I waited two heartbeats. “But still better than you, right?”

  “Emmett Cobb was…”

  He might have howled the rest of that sentiment, but I didn’t hear anything beyond my pounding heart. Geneva heard him, though, and she’d heard enough. Lightning struck again, thunder c
rashed, and she, a pulsing tornado green, surrounded Homer. He couldn’t see her to know what was happening, but he must have felt her intense chill. Confused, he took his eyes from me for just an instant too long. I grabbed the poker, swung it wide and connected with the side of his head like the wrath of God and Hammerin’ Hank Aaron.

  The gun went off as he fell and shot a hole in the newel post.

  Chapter 39

  It wasn’t completely hunky-dory after that.

  Clod arrived about the same time as the ambulance. The others clamored to tell him what they had heard and seen happen. They weren’t entirely sure why Homer had suddenly lost his concentration, but they were willing to believe I’d done something clever. They repeated Homer’s confession and his intent to kill us. Ardis and Ernestine gave Clod the envelope and the binder. Joe wandered in at some point with a nod to his brother. Mel and Thea asked if I’d join their softball team. I stood by feeling sick and watching without contributing. None of that was really unexpected. Debbie’s reaction surprised me, though.

  “You deliberately egged him on,” she said, jabbing her finger at me, then turning to Clod. “She used us as bait. It’s a wonder he didn’t shoot us all where we stood. It was unforgivable behavior. She should be arrested for endangerment.”

  “Good for you, Ms. Rutledge,” Clod said, “making friends left and right.”

  Mel purposely stepped on Clod’s foot as she and Thea gathered Debbie, her purse, and her coat, and took her home. There was an awkward silence after they left. Ardis filled it.

  “Darling Em?”

  I shrugged. “Bit of ad-lib. Deputy Dunbar, do you have any more questions? If not, and if you all don’t mind, I’d like to call it a night.”

  Dunbar was looking through the binder. That created another awkward moment when Ardis, Ernestine, and I looked at one another, simultaneously realizing there was a hole in our story and one of the characters in that hole was standing there with us. We looked at Joe. He caught the uneasy vibe showing plainly on our faces.

  “What’ve you got there, Cole?” he asked.

  “Record Emmett kept.” Clod turned pages, nodded, didn’t look up. “Makes interesting reading. All these names. People he was taking money from. Had himself a regular industry. But you didn’t find any other envelopes? Just the one with Homer’s name on it?” He looked up then. Glanced at Joe. Looked at us. We shook our heads. “Well, I’m guessing old Emmett was smart enough to get rid of any other information he collected after he dug up Homer’s dirt. Probably burned it in the fireplace there. That’s what I’d do.” He closed the binder and tucked it and the envelope under his arm. “So, no, Ms. Rutledge, there might be more questions later, in a day or two, but I believe that’s all for now. Ms. O’Dell, do you need a ride home?”

  They left together. Before I shut the door I heard Ernestine asking Clod if he’d like her to drive. Thunder rumbling and echoing between the mountains kept me from hearing his response. I’d hoped Ardis and Joe would follow them out the door, but they’d invited themselves into the parlor. Ardis was laying wood for a fire. Joe admired the bullet hole in the newel post.

  “No time like the present,” Ardis said.

  “You’re right.” I picked up the shovel. Joe backed away. I sighed. “I’m really not a violent or angry person,” I said to no one in particular. No one commented. And then I wondered. Where was Geneva? Not in the parlor. I handed the shovel to Joe and went back to the kitchen. Then up the stairs at a trot. Nowhere.

  “Kath, honey?” Ardis called.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, going back down. “I thought I heard something.” I hadn’t. I just wanted to. “Let’s burn the envelopes. Then I’m going to bed.” I took the shovel back from Joe, pried the cap off the newel, and pulled out the envelopes. “Would you like this one?” I held out the envelope with his name. He didn’t move to take it. “We didn’t open it.”

  “Burn them all,” he said.

  Envelopes full of papers, like books, take longer to burn than people tend to imagine. But I made myself be patient as we fed them, one at a time, into the flames. Ardis pulled a chair over. Joe and I sat on the floor. We were silent at first, staring into the flames. Then the steady rain and the crackling fire worked their magic, lighting our dark spaces, drawing us in.

  “I thought you might join us this afternoon, Ten,” Ardis said.

  “Sorry to miss the excitement. I was curious about Carlin and the snakes and I went to find him. Wasn’t easy. Carlins know how to disappear.”

  “Curious about what?” I asked.

  “Turns out the snakes were his. Carlin’s been working off his debt to Homer and Homer said the snakes would make them even. Carlin swears he had no idea what Homer planned. He seemed awfully friendly with them last night, though, and that got me wondering. After he left here he took off for some land he’s got down by Newport. Says his dream is to be a forest ranger. I don’t know if there’s much chance of that.”

  I fed another envelope into the fire, thought about dreams and lives going up in smoke. “Do you think Ruth had any idea about Homer?”

  “I don’t see how,” Ardis said.

  “I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now,” I said.

  “She’s going to need good friends to stick by her.”

  “We can do that,” Joe said.

  “What are we going to do with the Cat, now, Kath?” Ardis asked. “It’s not really we, though, is it? I’ve been putting off thinking about it, but the reality is I can’t swing a loan by myself. So what are you going to do with the Cat?”

  “Be a shame to lose it,” Joe said.

  “It’s a shame to put her on the spot like this, too.” Ardis stood up, breaking the spell of the flames. “Forget I asked, honey. It’s getting late and we’re all tired. We’ll both have time to think and talk before you go back to Illinois.”

  Joe waited until I put the last envelope on the fire, and then he got up, too. I was glad Ardis had saved me from laying my own dream out in front of them. She hadn’t wanted me as an absentee owner of the Cat. I wasn’t sure yet if she would accept the idea of me as owner in residence.

  “What are you looking at, Ten? Did we leave one behind?” she asked.

  I spread the last of the fire out with the poker, then looked around. Joe was peering into the newel post.

  “It’s not an envelope, but something’s still down there at the bottom. The bullet hole’s letting in a smidge of light.” He reached his long arm in, looking up at the ceiling as he fished. For a second, it looked as though something up in the corner of the room caught his eye, but when I turned to see what, nothing was there. He brought his arm out and handed me a folded square of paper. “Maybe it fell out of one of the envelopes?”

  “Maybe.” But it looked older. It was a heavyweight paper and not brittle. I unfolded it and read aloud:

  Finished this house this day for this family

  My dear wife and our dear children

  Elihu Bowman

  29th April 1853

  “Cool,” Joe said. “May I?”

  I hardly noticed him take the paper from my fingers. “Bowman?” I said, and listened. Then I turned around and listened again. “Geneva Bowman?”

  “No, it says Elihu,” Joe said. “And where do you suppose he came from? I thought all this property was owned by Holstons. Since time immemorial. What do you think Ruth will make of this?”

  “Tell you what,” Ardis said. “Let’s not shake her or anyone else up too much more right now, especially not tonight. Sound good?” She was looking at me. That might have been mild concern drawing her eyebrows together.

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Joe, you’re the new caretaker. Do you want to hold on to the note or put it back in the newel?”

  “I’m only here temporarily. The newel’s done it well enough for the last hundred and sixty years.”

  He refolded the paper, laid it back in the bottom of the post, and put the cap back on. I followe
d them to the door, thinking about hiding places. There was a hiding place at the Weaver’s Cat I still needed to find.

  “You open at one tomorrow, Ardis?” I asked. “I’ll be in and we’ll talk.”

  “Kath, oh, Kath,” she said, swallowing me in a honeysuckle hug, then letting me go. “Good Lord, we’ve had a few of them, but tomorrow is another day.”

  “Yep,” Joe said, “and probably a good one to go fishing.”

  “This rain won’t bugger it up?” I asked. We listened to more thunder moving in.

  “It’s always buggered up somewhere,” he said. “Then you just go somewhere else.”

  He opened the door to another flurry of wind. As they dashed out, heads lowered against the pelting rain, a blur of half-drowned fur streaked in.

  “Gah!”

  The blur skittered across the kitchen and disappeared around the corner. I looked after Ardis and Joe. Gone. I looked toward the living room. Only a muddy streak across the floor proved what I’d seen. Rain was blowing in, but I left the door open. One or the other of us was going to need an escape hatch. Ready to scream again, I followed the muddy trail, sorry the poker was once again holstered with the other fireplace tools.

  In the chair Ardis had left near the fireplace, sat a bedraggled, mud-spattered ginger cat, fastidiously licking a front paw as though that simple act was the obvious and complete solution to everything that troubled the world. The cat looked up when a floorboard under my foot squeaked.

  “Meow,” it said calmly, clearly meaning, “Oh, hey, how are you?”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea for you to be in here?”

  It did.

  Chapter 40

  Istill didn’t know who he was, but he was curled up beside me in bed the next morning. Purring. He was purring, that is. I was lying there listening to him, amazed, and dozily following the threads dangling in my head. I wondered how Ruth was holding up…if I wanted to make the huge transition and move to Blue Plum…if I could sit down at Granny’s tapestry loom and weave her Blue Plum tapestry myself…if Angie would be gracious about losing the house…what Shirley and Mercy would say when they found out I didn’t need whatever they’d found…if Ernestine needed a new job and if she’d like to work at the Weaver’s Cat…how Maggie was getting along with Joe…who this cat belonged to…why it liked me…if it had fleas…if Geneva’s last name was Bowman and where she was. She hadn’t come back. I didn’t wonder how Homer was because I didn’t care.