Hide Away, page 22
“What do you grow, mostly?”
“Organic herbs and vegetables. Things my wife can use in her cooking. We dry many of them. Beats all those store-bought brands with their MSG, or synthetic anti-caking agents, or concentrated toxic pesticides.”
“Speaking of toxic, you haven’t noticed any unusual weeds growing in your yard? Things like white snakeroot, belladonna, wolfsbane?”
“Funny thing about poisonous plants, they’re often very lovely. Belladonna bushes are often grown for their beautiful drooping, bell-shaped blue or red flowers. And wolfsbane has these lovely purple clusters.”
“But you haven’t grown any?”
“Not intentionally. I use organic herbicides to keep most weeds like that at bay. To avoid any cross-contamination from seeds of such plants with my herbs.”
“Are you aware of any specific gardeners who might be cultivating them?”
“No, and they’d better not have any pets if they do. It only takes a tiny bit to kill an animal. I certainly wouldn’t want Muttley getting into them.”
Atkinson put down his roller brush and frowned. “Are you hinting that the poison used on my dog was something like wolfsbane?” He mumbled to himself. “Never saw it in Ryall’s yard.”
Beverly wanted to try to get Nyssa alone since it was clear her husband was the controlling type, at least with other people around. Should she ask for some water as an excuse to follow Nyssa into the kitchen and get her alone? No, Atkinson would likely barge ahead and go get it himself.
Adam snapped the notebook shut and put it back in his pocket. “That’s all for now, Professor. Don’t want to interrupt your painting any further.”
Beverly smiled at Nyssa on her way out and gave a quick look back as she and Adam let themselves out. “Dr. Atkinson appears pretty cheerful, but his wife is one sad, depressed woman. I guess it takes one to know one.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like someone who gets depressed. More the active, take-charge type.”
“In my former life.”
He didn’t press her on it, and she was grateful. He looked at his shoes, one of which was now sporting a smear of cranberry paint, which prompted Beverly to say, “I guess we’ll have to accessorize your wardrobe to match. We can start with a cranberry tie, add in some cranberry cufflinks. Plus, a cranberry pocket-handkerchief.”
“I loathe cranberry.”
“The fruit or the color?”
“Both.” He held up his foot and wiggled it as if he could make the paint go away.
“You don’t think Atkinson grew the wolfsbane and planted that bottle in Braddon’s desk?”
“If he did grow it, he’s already got rid of the evidence. Makes me wonder if his dog got poisoned accidentally by his master’s own stash.”
“Poor little guy. Regardless of who did it, it was a horrible thing to do.” She sighed. “Grammie was allergic to dogs. Still, every Christmas I used to dream there’d be a Golden Retriever puppy under the tree.”
“Guess it’s hard to have a pet if you move around often.” He paused for a moment. “Looked for places here, yet?”
“Haven’t had time. What with Harlan’s case and Agnes’s shop.” Once again, her excuses rang hollow to her, and she knew they would to Adam, too. She blurted out, “Maybe you could recommend a real estate agent?”
A slow smile spread across his face. “I could do that.” He started whistling “Little cabin in the woods,” and she joined in. She wasn’t going to tell him about her visit to “his” cabin, not yet. She was still too skittish to feel ready to settle down, but she could play the pretend game, couldn’t she?
Adam got a call on his cell, and from his end of the conversation, Beverly knew it was Jinks, excited about something. When he hung up, he relayed to Beverly, “The fingerprints and DNA from the root beer bottle you rescued from the park ranger did the trick. They match Jinks’s sexual assault case. The woman picked him out of a lineup, and now our park ranger is in jail.”
“That’s wonderful, for Jinks and her victim. Doest his help Harlan, too?”
“Time will tell. I need to hurry back to the office to help Jinks interrogate ‘His Excellency.’ Hopefully, I’ll learn more then.”
Chapter 38
After Adam dropped Beverly off at Agnes’s shop, Beverly was pleased to see no trace whatsoever of the damage from the vandals. The older woman joined Beverly in admiring the place. “Sorry Detective Dutton couldn’t be here. I wanted to thank him.”
“For what?”
Just then, a box on two legs walked in from the rear of the store, or so it appeared. Two arms gently laid the box next to the cash register, revealing the bearer to be none other than Blaine Morland. “I’ve got a few more of these to catalog, Miss Flamm. That should be the lot, I think.”
“Thank you, Blaine. It would have taken me two days to do all that.” She pointed to her face. “Aging eyes.”
The boy headed back to his task in the other room while Agnes beamed at Beverly. “That’s what I want to thank Adam for. He got Blaine released into his custody, although it’s more of a supervisory thing. Blaine lives with his aunt, but she has to work. It’s so hard on her.”
Yes, Beverly knew that quite well from her social-worker ruse. “Why not his father?”
“His father works two jobs. Doesn’t have extra time to spend with his son. Truth be told, I’m not sure he cared one way or the other about the whole arrest business. He’s a bit heavy with the bottle.”
“So, this is community service in lieu of jail time?”
“No jail time’s forthcoming. Lack of evidence, you see. For Blaine, that is. The other two were caught with stolen items on their person and at their homes. But don’t think this is slave labor, either. I’m paying him.”
Beverly lowered her voice. “How’s he doing so far?”
“He was a tad surly at first. To be expected. But he’s really quite handy. I think I won him over with my famous chocolate-pecan pie.”
Beverly looked at Agnes in mock indignation. “You have a famous chocolate-pecan pie? And why was I never told this?”
Agnes laughed. “You can have some any time. I’m thinking of adding it to the cafe menu when it gets going.”
“Are you still thinking you might open the store this week?”
“Saturday. If all goes according to plan. Took that idea you had about advertising in the Junction Jive with a coupon and ran with it. Twenty-five percent off any item.”
Agnes’s phone rang, and while she answered it, Beverly wandered back to the room where Blaine was working. She introduced herself, then took in his tousled hair, which was in desperate need of a comb. But his jeans were clean, sneakers neat, and he had on a gray mock turtleneck that matched his eyes.
She complimented him on the sweater, then added, “I appreciate you helping Agnes out. It’s tough starting a new business, but she’s excited about making it work. It’s like having a second chance for her.” Beverly doubted he would get the double entendre, but hoped it might sink in later.
He looked up from the notes he was making from the items of the box on the table. It was one of the same boxes Adam said were part of Harlan’s donation.
He said, “My aunt bought it for me. The sweater.”
“She has good taste.” Beverly pointed to an item from the box. “Know what that is?”
“Looks like a wooden shoe. With palm trees and huts carved in it.”
“It’s a wine bottle holder. See the hole in the middle?” She pointed to another item. “That one is a vintage French silver-plated wine champagne bottle combination holder and pourer.”
“People really use all this stuff?”
It hit Beverly hard, thinking about Blaine’s absentee father, whose idea of drinking was tipping back a bottle and guzzling it down whole. The boy had likely never seen a fancy table spread. Most of the items in this shop would be foreign to him, making him a rockfish out of water.
She replied, “Sometimes. People use them mostly for special occasions.”
He pulled out another item. “And this one?”
“A silver wine funnel. The curved spout directs wine down the side of a decanter to prevent it from dropping straight to the base. It also helps to remove impurities and sediments from the wine.”
“Are they worth a lot of money?”
Her heart skipped a beat, thinking he was trying to gauge how much money he’d get for them if they “went missing.” But when she said, “That might fetch a few hundred dollars,” he wrote it down in the notes section on his list with the reply, “I hope she sells that one, then.”
Warming up to his task, he started peppering her with questions about each item as he rescued it from the box, carefully jotting down the details in the ledger. “How did you learn all of this, Miss Laborde?”
“My grandmother ran an antiques store. I learned most everything I know from her.”
“Is she going to be here on Saturday for the big opening?”
Beverly swallowed hard. “She died a few years ago. But I have a feeling she’ll be here in spirit.”
“My aunt likes things like this. Maybe I’ll get her to come.”
Beverly felt increasingly simpatico with the young man, seeing the parallels between them. The sense of being cast away, the feeling of isolation, having to fend for yourself, choosing risky behavior. Stubborn, independent, yet yearning for something stable.
She hoped Agnes and Adam were doing the right thing by trusting this boy, giving him that second chance. So many throwaway people—Blaine, Braddon’s ex-girlfriend Jane, Vernon Atkinson’s treatment of his wife and all his conquests, Fern’s ex-husband running off with “some floozy.”
All the little battles and little wars in all the households around the world—too often, they boiled over into violence. Like Reggie Forsyth killing his father. Or a sword pinning a man’s body to a tree.
Chapter 39
Monday, December 10
Adam woke up with a headache, something that didn’t get any better after getting a call from Creighton Querry. Not that Adam minded getting up at the crack of dawn, but four-thirty was a touch early, even by his standards. The early hour was necessary if they wanted to meet with someone who said he was too busy to talk except from six to six-thirty.
So here Adam was, standing on a chilly concrete floor staring up at a bright yellow gantry with large hollow metal tubes hanging below. His “handler” pointed out parts in various stages of assembly, from giant fiberglass blades to nacelles to heat exchangers. Men and women in hard hats scurried from one station to another.
Catching sight of Cray, Adam waved him over, and their guide escorted them to the main offices, specifically the office for co-owner, Kirk Joffe. The man motioned for them to sit, adding, “Sorry for the early hours, but we’re swamped right now. Working ‘round the clock. My calendar is divided into fifteen-minute slots.”
Adam said, “This is an impressive plant you have here. Wind turbine components must be in high demand.”
“They are. We were the first company to manufacture these parts in the Northeast. Unfortunately, we’re no longer the only company. Competition is cut-throat.”
Adam pulled out his notebook to make sure he got the terms right. “You use dysprosium and neodymium in your plant, is that right?”
“They’re crucial. And the Chinese control almost the entire market. When a shipment goes missing, it’s huge. We need those rare earths to stay afloat. Without them, we’d go bankrupt. The bigger companies have more leverage, so they’re first in line for anything else. This supplier was our last hope.”
Cray butted in, “Why did you choose this particular supplier?”
“They had a more reasonable price. And willing to deal with small potatoes like us.”
Adam asked, “Mr. Joffe, I’d also like to ask you about how your business got started. Your wife is your partner, I believe. But she’s not your first wife, is that correct?”
Joffe leaned back in his chair. “If this is headed where I think it is, I want you to know I’m not proud of the way I handled the breakup of my marriage, running off with Jenny like that. But I’m much happier now. It was the best thing for me. Fern was controlling, micromanaging, jealous, suspicious—well, that part came true. But maybe what I did was a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“By Fern, you mean Fern Gery?” Adam owed Cray for finding out that bit of news.
“Yeah.”
“How acrimonious was the divorce?”
“My wife, Jenny, well she was my girlfriend at the time, was afraid for her life. I was afraid for my life. Fern left dead rats in my car, my wife got a package with a bloody cow’s heart, and more. She was clever, though. Nothing that could ever trace the harassment to her. On the surface, she was all gracious and polite in the court proceedings. But as you watched her, you see the wheels turning in her head as she schemed.”
If she was everything Joffe said, then Fern was indeed a good actress, for Adam hadn’t suspected anything of the kind in talking with her. Nor had Beverly—someone used to disguises and playing roles to fool other people. “Mr. Joffe, do you think she could have had anything to do with the missing rare-earths shipment?”
“I hadn’t heard anything from her for a couple of years and thought her vendetta had faded away. She doesn’t have much money. Not enough to buy off the supplier or pay someone else to steal the shipment. And she’s smart, but not that smart. I can’t see her being able to pull something like this off.”
A floor supervisor skidded into the office and shouted something about a computer malfunction before ducking back out. Joffe sighed and rose to his feet. “Sorry I can’t chat with you more, Detective Dutton, Mr. Querry.”
“We understand, sir. If we have more questions, we’ll give you a call.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather the next phone call be good news about finding that shipment.”
The same handler led Adam and Cray through the labyrinth and back outside, where Cray scanned the front of the building and the sign that read, “Windfall Manufacturing.” He said, “Wind-FAIL is more like it. Or will be soon.”
Adam’s guide had told him the plant employed close to fifty people, not huge by most manufacturer standards. But jobs weren’t all that plentiful in this part of Vermont. Those people and their families would suffer mightily if the plant went bankrupt.
He said, “On the phone, you said you had a very good reason for believing Fern Gery may have some knowledge of this rare-earths theft. But even her ex doesn’t think she’s capable of it.”
“I didn’t say she did it, now did I?”
“No need to be cranky, bar-boy. So what’s her connection?”
“I ran down a petty thug who specializes in low-level crimes. In and out of jail, doing whatever dicey gig he can find in between. He stays under the radar, leaving the big plays to other people willing to take the risk. But his checkered history means he’s developed an address book filled with lowlifes. Said he ‘thought’ he mighta heard about a guy with a loose tongue.”
“And this ‘loose tongue’ likes to lap up rare dirt, I take it?”
“So he said. Or my contact said. Second-hand tips, you know.”
“You got a name for Mr. Loose Lips?”
“Bruno Giacometti. He’s—”
“Fern Gery’s new boyfriend.” Adam recalled how Fern had smiling referred to him as her “Italian Stallion.” He was their new dark horse.
“You met him, Adam?”
“No, but I think I need to. You got an address?”
“Lives in a trailer park not too far from here. The one behind the old burned-out mill. On Larson Lane.”
“You up for a nice chat with this guy?”
Cray grinned. “Sure. We can stop and pick up some cupcakes with pink icing and some tea.”
Adam rolled his eyes, and Cray said, “Should get some for us, then. I need energy for a rumble. And I have a feeling this tête-à-tête may end badly. By which I mean well.”
“How would your mysterious client feel about all of this?”
“He’s paying me for results. Any way I have to get ‘em.”
“I should get back-up.”
“Nah, it’ll make him more suspicious. We can take him.”
Adam agreed, somewhat against his better judgment. But Jinks was in the middle of her usual hectic morning rush of getting the kids to school and herself to work. And it was just a “friendly” little chat, minus cupcakes, to find out what this Giacometti character knew or didn’t about Clay’s case. Or even Harlan’s.
Since Clay knew the way, Adam let him take the lead in his car, with Adam following behind. He half-hoped they had success, half-hoped they didn’t. If Fern Gery were tied into this, it would be a blow to Beverly. Almost everyone she’d ever formed an attachment to had died or disappointed her. He wanted to protect her from that kind of pain, not add to it.
Chapter 40
Beverly woke up early, after having dreams of confronting a ghost in a field of red flowers. She tumbled out of bed toward the shower, wondering what had prompted that bit of nocturnal theater. Ghosts from her past haunting her subconscious? Reliving the very real nightmare of her villainous uncle shooting himself?
Then she realized the ghost was a sad-faced woman with olive skin who looked a lot like Nyssa Atkinson. The red flowers must be taken from the new paint in their living room.
She’d obsessed about Nyssa after her visit to the Atkinson home with Adam. That woman was hiding something but wasn’t about to speak up with her husband around. Or any man, especially a police detective.
It was Monday, so the Professor would be in classes, wouldn’t he? With her post-shower hair in a towel, Beverly munched on a room-service breakfast sandwich and checked out the college website on her laptop. Atkinson had a class at ten. Perfect.
Beverly hadn’t paid attention to the garden behind the Atkinson’s house on her first visit. Dormant, brown stubs of plants and layers of straw mulch filled the planters. Not much to look at now. Was there purple monkshood next to the strawberries and basil when the yard was in full summer bloom?
