A Stodgy Slaying, page 4
She had a point. I watched Jonathan Moore as he placed his order, then stood chatting with the teen at the counter.
“He owns the outdoors shop, right?” I asked. “How would he know Graham?”
Clarissa’s eyes met mine. “Every time Graham came to town, he had dinner with Jonathan. There actually was some talk about them, if you know what I mean.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Plus, I think they went on hikes or bird-watching as well.”
“Hmm.”
“Now you’re doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Hmmm-ing. That thing that Jaime does when he’s thinking.”
“Hmmm,” I replied as I added Jonathan Moore to the list. “What would his motive be?”
Clarissa threw up her hands. “I can’t come up with all the answers, now can I?”
“It would be a big help if you could,” I replied solemnly.
“Hmmm,” she said, making a face.
We both laughed and took sips of tea.
I glanced at my watch. “We need to pick up the pace of our sleuthing. Franklin is coming over to help me paint the front sitting room in a few minutes.”
“I’m surprised you even let him into the place after what he did.”
She wasn’t wrong. I was surprised myself. Franklin was among those who had tried to steal my aunt’s illustrations when I first arrived. But he was family after all, and he seemed to want to make amends for his behavior.
Besides, I could use the help. Corbyn was a lovely cheerleader, always encouraging me on each project, but at his advanced age, he wasn’t much assistance in the do-it-yourself department.
Clarissa frowned into her tea as she pondered. I bent over the list to add on to Jonathan Moore’s list.
“What if it wasn’t just Graham the killer was after?” she said, hesitating. “What if they also wanted to frame you in particular?”
My head shot up in surprise. “Me? Why would someone in town want to frame me? I hardly know anyone.”
“You dilly-dally in Alex’s grocery store so much that he might want to frame you.”
“There’s truth in that,” I agreed with a grin because I knew she was joking. Alex was grumpy but because he adored my aunt, he put up with me.
I frowned at Clarissa. “Are there really people in town who don’t like me?”
“Oh, my goodness, don’t be needy,” Clarissa scoffed. “It’s not attractive. Of course not. You’re delightful, luv.”
She had a point, though. Who stood to gain if I was out of the way?
“Cousin Franklin?”
Clarissa smacked the table with her hand. “Yes! I hadn’t really considered him, but given his background, yes, put him on the list.”
I added him to the list then turned my eyes back to Clarissa. “Who were you thinking of?”
She tilted her hand in a seesaw fashion as she spoke. “I was just thinking perhaps that grandson of McPherson over at the Potter Museum.”
“Why would Willis McPherson’s grandson want me out of the picture?” Willis McPherson was the somewhat underhanded curator at the Beatrix Potter Museum on the edge of town.
“Well, you haven’t exactly painted him in a very good light.”
“That’s because he tried to break into my house and steal Aunt Selma’s illustrations,” I said. “He brought it on himself.”
“Be that as it may, he might hold a grudge,” Clarissa said. “Or perhaps his grandson does.”
“McPherson’s grandson” I wrote in the “Suspects” column. I knew it was only four names, but it gave me something besides myself to focus on.
I glanced at the clock again and jumped.
Oops. I’d have to hurry to meet Franklin on time. Even though I had put him on my list of suspects, I didn’t really think he killed anyone. Plus, right now, I really needed his help getting the inn ready. If he was a killer, well, I’d just have to keep an extra-close eye on him until I turned him in.
I shoved everything back into my handbag, swigged one last drink of tea as Clarissa shook her head, bemoaning about “good tea going to waste.” Then I sprinted out the door and up the street.
Franklin sat on the front steps of the inn waiting, ear buds hanging around his neck and his phone in his hand. He pointed to the crime scene tape.
“What have you gotten yourself into now, cousin?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumbled as I stepped around him and unlocked the door. I was sure he already knew and was just giving me a hard time.
I had set out the paint supplies for Franklin in the front room. As he started to prepare the room for painting, I hovered by the door, watching him. He didn’t act like someone who had killed a man just outside the front door.
Franklin moved the furniture away from the walls and threw tarps over the sofa and chairs. Finally, he turned to me.
“If you’re just going to stand there, you could help.”
“Sorry.” I rushed into the room and grabbed the other end of the sofa to move it further into the center of the room. “I was just wondering if you knew anything about the man who died on the porch.”
His eyes glanced up at me, though his head faced down. “Thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”
I sighed. “Well, it’s just so strange. I guess I need to talk about it more than I thought I did.
I hesitated, then plowed on. “Did you know him?”
Franklin shook his head as he grabbed a piece of tarp and handed me one end. “Saw him about town, I guess, on occasion. Don’t think I ever spoke with him, though.”
I helped cover the sofa with the tarp. “Where were you when he died?”
He looked up at the ceiling in thought. “That was just the other night, wasn’t it? I was at the pub having a bite. Saw your Corbyn there. You could ask him.”
I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that news. You could bet I would ask Corbyn about it the next time I saw him. Franklin may have tried to steal from me, but I didn’t want to believe he was a killer.
As he turned to move the entertainment stand, I slipped out of the room and tromped down to the basement to start the wash. There wasn’t a lot since we hadn’t had guests in a while, but I wanted to wash the curtains and bedding from all the closets.
I tossed in the soap, then the curtains and slammed the lid shut, then climbed back up the stairs and into the kitchen. I had been working in the kitchen for a while when I heard a spitting sound come from downstairs.
Jogging down the hallway, I glanced into the sitting room to see Franklin at work, ear buds in his ears.
I flung open the door to the basement and ran down the steps. Before I got to the bottom of the stairs, I was pummeled with streams of water, shooting out from the washing machine.
“Franklin! Come help!” I screamed as I sloshed onto the basement floor, which already had water several inches deep on it. I banged on the switch to shut off the washer, but the water kept spewing.
“Franklin!” I yelled again, then remembered he was wearing earbuds. “Arrgh!”
I spun around in the water, my foot catching on linens tossed by the side of the machine, and went down hard on my knee, followed by my hands, which slid out from under me. I struggled to my feet and crawled out of the water and back up the stairs, my hands pressing into the steps ahead of me and my feet leaving wet footprints in my wake.
“Franklin!” I fell through the basement door into the front hallway, then slid down the hall to the sitting room.
Franklin calmly rolled paint up the wall.
“Franklin!” His name came out louder than I had intended.
He jumped, nearly dropping the roller, as he turned toward me. “Kat, why are you screeching at me?” he asked.
Then apparently noticing my wet front, he pulled out the ear buds. “What’s happened? I thought you were doing the wash, not being the wash.”
He chuckled at his own joke.
I didn’t. I gestured for him to follow. “There’s a problem with the washer. Can you help?”
He set down his roller and followed me down the hall. “I don’t know too much about the plumbing, but I can take a look.”
Franklin sighed when he saw the scene in the basement. He pushed past me on the stairs and sloshed gingerly over to the washer, where he moved handles back and forth before finding the one that turned off the water. “There you go. Easy as pie.”
“What happened? Why did the water shoot out like that?” I pushed my damp hair back from my face with a wet hand.
He turned to look at the back of the washer. He tugged on something, then held up a rubber tube in his hand. “Looks like the tubing just gave out. Shouldn’t be much to get another one. This, however, is another story.” He gestured to the wet floor. “You’ll need to call someone to drain it.”
I nodded in despair, then gestured for him to come out of the water. “I’ll get you a towel to dry off,” I said, then turned to climb back up the stairs.
His footsteps echoed heavily behind me. I grabbed a towel from the downstairs bathroom and handed it to him so he could sit down and dry off his feet. He grabbed the towel and headed for the door.
“I’ve a spare pair of boots in the car,” he said. “Doing the odd job, you never know what you’ll come up against.”
I looked down at my own soaking wet clothes and decided to go change as well. As I sloshed my way back to my room on the other side of the kitchen, the thought crossed my mind that this was shaping up to be my worst week yet in England.
Just bloody wonderful.
Chapter 8
After mopping up and waiting for the plumber, I finally sent Franklin on his way. The sitting room wasn’t quite done, but I had learned not to leave Franklin alone in the house. After all, he had tried to break in to steal from Aunt Selma. He was family, but I still kept my eye on him. Plus, I still needed to check his alibi for the previous evening.
I hurried over to Clarissa’s house to help her with the rooms. When I reached into the first-floor linen closet, the bed linens were already gone.
“Clarissa? Are you here?” I called as I headed up the staircase to the second floor.
Clarissa stuck her head around the corner and waved.
“We have help today,” she said with a wide smile. She pointed through an open door.
The teenage girl we had spoken with the day before stripped the sheets off the bed.
“Ginny, come here, luv.” Clarissa stuck her head in the door. The teenager followed her out, and Clarissa made the introductions, then turned to me.
“Ginny volunteered to help today, though, of course I’ll pay you,” she said, turning between the two of us.
The girl shrugged and straightened the head band holding back her hair.
“No trouble,” she said, casting a glance behind her. “I work in my aunt’s cleaning business back in London. Besides, it’s better than sitting in that room being scared of a murderer.”
“Is your mother still worried about that?” I asked sympathetically.
The teen’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s not my mother, she’s my aunt. My mum’s still back in London, taking pills and crying her bloody eyes out.”
Well, that was awkward.
Clarissa and I cast glances at each other, unsure how to respond. I went first.
“I’m sorry to hear your mother’s not well.” That sounded like a safe response.
Ginny blew out a breath of derision. “She’s been like that since my father got put in a home. He had a brain aneurysm, but it didn’t kill him.” She paused and looked away, muttering under her breath. “Might have been better if it did.”
Clarissa placed a gentle hand on Ginny’s arm. “I’m sure that’s been hard on you. Is that why your aunt brought you to the Lakes?”
Ginny shrugged off Clarissa’s touch, but gently, like she didn’t want to offend her. “Yeah, she wanted my mum to come, too, but she wouldn’t. But now we’re stuck in the room.”
“I have an idea.” I caught Clarissa’s eye but spoke to Ginny. “Maybe your aunt will let you come have some fun with us. It might be a good break for us all. Have you ever done a ropes course before?”
Ginny’s eyes lit up even as Clarissa slightly shook her head.
“I’ve seen them on the Internet, but I’ve never done one. Is there one here?” Ginny asked. “Brilliant!”
Clarissa motioned for us to get back to work, so I joined Ginny making the beds and regaled her with a story about the ropes course just outside of town. Jaime had taken me on it when I first moved to town, back when he didn’t think I was a killer.
I paused as I thought of him and looked toward the window, surprised by the sudden wave of emotion. What would it take to convince him of my innocence and regain our friendship?
Chapter 9
After finishing the chores, which went doubly fast with Ginny’s help, I set off for home.
The thought made me smile. Home.
For the past two years, I had lived in my boyfriend’s house in the States. I knew our relationship wasn’t perfect, but I thought if I hung in there long enough, I would feel better about it. Still, when he had asked me to marry him – twice – I couldn’t bring myself to say “yes.”
It wasn’t a huge surprise to him that I had decided to stay in England. It was a bigger surprise to my parents.
Aunt Selma’s B&B and the village of Windermere was beginning to feel like home. Now if I could just get rid of the pesky murder rap hanging over me, I could move forward with the inn’s grand reopening and settle into life in the village.
But first, that murder case. As I neared my house in the darkening shadows of evening, I noticed someone on the doorstep peering in the window. My eyes glared from two angry slits in my head.
“Eleanor Davies!” I bellowed as my steps hurried down the pavement. “Eleanor!”
The older woman turned at the sound of my voice, then scooted down the front steps and started down the street toward her own establishment.
“Eleanor, wait!”
She hurried on as if she hadn’t heard my voice.
“Eleanor, I know you can hear me!”
Eleanor’s long legs carried her quickly across the road, but I had nearly caught up to her when she reached her front steps and tapped up them. She stopped only when she reached the porch, where she finally turned to face me.
“Stop right there, Kat McCoy,” she said, holding out a palm as if to ward me off. “I’ll not have a murderer chasing me into my own home.”
I rolled my eyes, laying a hand on my chest as I caught my breath. Though she was older, her long legs moved quickly. “Oh, please, Eleanor. You know I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I don’t know any such thing. The poor man died right on your porch.” One hand went to her hip, the other she wagged in my face like a school marm.
I took a deep breath to calm down.
“Yes, Eleanor, it was quite sad,” I finally said, then tried to get the focus off me. “I heard that Mr. Graham had stayed at your inn on occasion.”
Eleanor pursed her lips and crossed her arms as she looked down at me. “Only the one time,” she said, clearly trying to distance herself from him. “He stayed at loads of places.”
“I heard that he did not give you a very good review when he got back to London.” I tried to put a sympathetic look on my face as I leaned toward her, lowering my voice.
Eleanor huffed and looked off down the street before turning her gaze back on me. “You heard wrong. Once again, you Americans only hear what you want to hear.”
My eyes widened, partly from my wondering if Eleanor knew I could just look up the review online. “Why would I want you to get a bad review, Eleanor? I figure we’re all in this together. You’ve been doing this much longer than I have. I’m sure you have a lot to teach me.”
I crossed my fingers behind my back with my lie.
Her eyes narrowed as she searched my face for signs that I was mocking her. Finally, she sniffed. “I could teach you a few things. If word gets out that your inn has issues, if could hurt all of us.”
“So did Graham have issues with your inn?”
She ducked her chin. “Mr. Graham,” she corrected me. “He might have done.”
“I imagine that made you quite angry, Eleanor. I would have been angry with him.” I searched her face as I spoke.
She nodded, her eyes flitting around over me. “I do understand, of course, that everyone has different tastes, but, yes, I was quite unhappy with his review. Business dipped for a short time after. All prissy in his fancy plum scarf.”
I froze. Graham had been wearing a purple – plum – scarf the night he died on my porch.
“Did you see him the night he died?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how did you know he had a purple scarf?” I crossed my arms and lifted my chin, challenging Eleanor from the sidewalk.
She hesitated as she glanced toward my house, then she scoffed. Yes, scoffed at me.
“I’m sure he wore one when he stayed here. It’s just the sort of thing he would wear, like he was royalty or something.”
That didn’t answer my question, but I could feel my window of opportunity nearly slamming shut on me. I only had one question left before Eleanor bolted.
“Eleanor, where were you the evening he died?”
“I was at the grocer’s, same as you,” she said before her mouth formed an “o” and her eyes narrowed. “Pardon me, are you asking me if I have an alibi, young lady?”
Not so young, but, yes, I was. It didn’t matter. She didn’t wait for an answer.
“Where I was is none of your business. I’m not the one accused of killing anyone.”
With one more huff, she spun on her heel and stepped into her house, banging the door shut behind her.
I stared at the closed door, then turned to look down the street at my own door. It wasn’t that far, about six houses down and across the street. Eleanor could have seen Graham waiting on my front stoop, then stomped her unpleasant self over to confront him. Knowing the kind of man he appeared to bed, he would have dismissed her and turned his back on her.
