A Stodgy Slaying, page 7
I gave a weak thumbs-up. I wasn’t hurt at all. The adrenalin was pumping through my body, so I felt jumpy.
“Kat, I’m so sorry,” Eliza called as Clarissa shuffled to the other side of the platform and called for a guide to help. “My foot slipped and the zipline just took off.”
I waved away her apologies, leaning my head against the rope to try to calm my thumping heart. The last time I had come to the ropes course, I had felt vibrant and alive. Right now, I just wanted to get off.
The guide climbed up to the platform. First, he needed to clear the other three out of the way, so he sent them ziplining past me as I hung in mid-air. All three had worried looks on their faces.
Then the guide pulled on a crank that pulled the knot – and me – toward the platform. It was a slow process, and I bounced the whole time, my stomach threatening to bounce out its contents.
When I finally arrived back at the platform, the guide reached an arm around me until I could get to my feet. He steadied me with a hand as he studied my face.
“You have two options,” he said. “You can let me hook your harness to the zipline and join your friends at the end. Or you can climb down here and hike back to the carpark.”
“How far is that?” I wanted to know.
“About a half kilometer.”
I sighed as I did the conversion in my head. A half kilometer is about a quarter mile. My legs felt shaky, so I knew a quarter-mile hike would be no picnic. I gestured toward the zipline. “Let’s do this.”
He hooked my harness into the zipline, and, after another deep breath, I went careening down the zipline. Last time, I had opened my arms with joy. This time, I clutched the rope and leaned my head against the apparatus. I just wanted to set my feet on the ground.
Clarissa waited for me at the end. As soon as the guide unhooked my harness, she slipped an arm around me as she walked me off the landing pad.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, searching my face.
“I’m still a little shaky,” I admitted. “But I’m not hurt. It just scared me to suddenly be flying into mid-air like that.”
“Eliza felt terrible,” Clarissa said as she studied my face. “I sent them off to gather our things so we could go directly to the car and back to the tea shop when you arrived.”
I smiled weakly in appreciation, then turned to follow her toward the carpark, where Eliza and Ginny met us.
There was much fussing over me, which made me uncomfortable and distracted, apparently, because I climbed into the driver’s seat. I glanced back out at Clarissa, who stood just outside the open door, biting her lip as she tried not to laugh.
“Shut up, you,” I said as I climbed back out and scurried around to the other side of the car. It wasn’t the first time I’d made that mistake on a British car and probably not the last. Which is also why I didn’t drive much in England.
“I just feel so bad,” Ginny said from the back seat. “If I had turned around sooner, I could have caught you before you went flying by.”
I turned to look at her over the seat. “And then both of us probably would have ended up hanging in the middle of nowhere. It’s probably a good thing you didn’t.”
She held up her phone. “I did get some good pictures of you, though.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the front, settling into the seat.
We reached the tea shop in short order. Eliza and Ginny decided to walk back up to Clarissa’s B&B while I opted for a cup of tea and a snack.
After checking in with her workers behind the counter, Clarissa brought over a tray containing a pot of tea, cups and some cookies.
She poured, with one eye on me. “You were right about the ropes course, up until your amazing fall, that is.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “How so?”
“It was quite fun.”
I smiled. “You and Eliza seemed to hit it off.”
She nodded as she set her teacup on the saucer before her. “She’s really quite lovely. I had been nervous with her about, seeing as she owns a cleaning business and all, but she was very nice and funny.”
“I’m glad. She and Ginny seem to get along well.”
“I’m trying to figure out a way to keep Ginny here when their holiday is over in a few days.”
I looked up in surprise. “To help in your B&B? That’s a great idea.”
“She’s a good worker and doesn’t complain. You should have her help you while she’s here.”
I lifted my teacup in salute. “Also a good idea.”
We sat in companionable silence. I wondered if Clarissa was thinking what I was thinking, namely, what jobs I could get Ginny to do while she was here?
Clarissa absent-mindedly stirred her tea. “Any more thoughts on the investigation?”
I shrugged. “I can’t shake the idea that someone else in town knows something.”
“Well, that seems rather obvious, Sherlock.”
I made a face. “You know what I mean. Graham came to town several times a year, so he must have had a run-in with someone else.”
Clarissa’s turn to make a face. “I can’t imagine anyone in town doing such a thing on purpose.”
“You don’t know everyone,” I pointed out.
“No, but I know most of the people who come down our street and I just don’t think they’re killers,” she said, shaking her head.
“Except maybe Eleanor,” I added.
“She’s an old mean woman, but that doesn’t make her a killer.”
She leaned toward me, tapping the table with her forefinger. “What if a tourist killed Graham?”
“Oh, please,” I said, shaking my head. “How would they have even known he was here? Did they stalk him from London? Surely, he – or someone – would have noticed that, on the train or at the depot.”
Clarissa looked up toward the ceiling stretching her neck, then dropped her head to her chest. “This is giving me a headache.”
“Welcome to my world.” I picked up my teacup.
Clarissa reached across the table and squeezed my hand as I set down the cup. “Don’t worry. It will all work out. I feel it.”
“Yeah, well, you felt a stalker tourist was a killer just a moment ago,” I said, giving her hand a return squeeze. “But you’ve reminded me to get on with things. I will definitely stop in at Jonathan’s tomorrow morning.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked, concern on her face.
I smiled sadly. “I would love that, but I also know you have too much on your plate right now as it is.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going into the shop of a possible murderer alone.”
I thought about that as I broke apart a cookie, then shook my head.
“I’ll be fine. There are tourists in and out of the shops all day. Even if he is the killer, it’s not like he’s going to knock me over the head in the middle of his shop, then drag my body to the storeroom while he goes to wait on a customer.”
Clarissa stared at me for a long moment. “When you put it that way, it sounds quite plausible.”
I barked out a laugh. “I will stop in before I go and after. I’ll literally be a block away. That way, if I’m gone too long, you can rush in and save me from the storeroom.”
“All right,” Clarissa muttered. “But I don’t like it. Although while you’re there, price his wool gloves, would you? I’ve misplaced mine.”
Chapter 16
The bell danced merrily over my head as I stepped into the Windermere Outdoors shop the next morning. I glanced at the bell and wondered if all these shops ordered from the same place. More importantly, did I need one for the inn?
The shop had a cozy feel to it, no small part due to the shelves of sweaters and hats that filled the room. I stopped to admire a bin filled with wooden walking sticks.
“Those are hand-carved by my father,” Jonathan Moore said as he came around the counter, wiping off his glasses.
“They’re beautiful,” I said, running my finger lightly over one. “How long does it take him to make one?”
He shrugged as he placed them back on his nose. “Anymore, it depends on the day. He’s not as spry as he used to be. I don’t know how much longer he will keep it up. However, the good news is that he has begun teaching my son and daughter how to carve. So Moore Walking Sticks will continue. Now, what can I do for you, Ms. McCoy?”
“Kat, please,” I said. “I’ve actually come for two reasons. First, I need some better outerwear if I’m going to keep walking around town. Since I don’t expect to buy a car any time soon, let’s assume I’m going to keep walking.”
Jonathan guided me over to some sweaters and rain jackets.
“These sweaters are for warmth, but they also wick away the raindrops.”
It didn’t take me long to pick out one of each. As I stood at the cashier’s counter to pay, Jonathan ran my card.
“And the second thing?” he said, handing me back my card.
“Second thing?” I was puzzled as I tucked the card back into the small pocket inside the purse.
“You said you came in for two reasons. We’ve taken care of the first. How else may I help you?”
This was where it could get awkward. I clutched the bag to my chest.
“Actually, I wanted to ask you a few questions about Edgar Elliot Graham.”
I watched his reaction closely. Not that I expected him to give himself away right off the bat, but one can always hope.
Jonathan merely nodded, though his expression grew wary. He motioned to a pair of high-backed wooden chairs by the cash register. I sat in one. He stepped back behind the counter and leaned against the wall.
“What would you like to know?”
“You don’t seem surprised that I’m asking,” I said, my eyes on him as I stepped up and sat in the chair, turning toward him.
“I’m surprised that you’re asking. The police haven’t stopped by at all.”
I drilled my nails on the countertop and, oddly enough, decided to go with the truth.
“Mr. Graham was attacked on my front porch, Aunt Selma’s front porch. The police think I had something to do with it.” I glanced up at him hurriedly. “I didn’t. I’m trying to prove my innocence, but hardly anyone in town seems to know much about him.”
He shrugged. “Ed and I have been – were – friends for a few years. He always stopped in when he was in town and we usually had dinner or something while he was here. In fact, he stopped in the afternoon he passed.” He gestured toward a rack of purple scarves. “Bought one of those scarves to wear.”
“How did you meet?” I struggled to come up with questions. How did the police do this? Perhaps for my next interrogation, I should write down the questions beforehand.
He picked up a cloth and began to wipe the countertop. “He came in during one of his visits here. He enjoyed hiking in the Lakes.”
I leaned away from him, skeptical. “He didn’t strike me as a hiker.”
In fact, he struck me more as a heart attack waiting to happen. A large man with a ruddy complexion, from what I had seen on my porch.
“Odd as it sounds, Edgar liked to hike out on the old trails. I think he channeled Beatrix Potter, out there.” Jonathan smiled fondly as he folded and unfolded the cloth. Clearly, it just gave him something to do with his hands. “He actually was more of a bull in a china shop, lumbering about out there in the bush, but he loved it.”
He heaved a shaky breath and I’m certain I saw a hint of tears in his eyes. Was there more to his relationship with Graham than met the eye? My mind danced through possible scenarios.
“Were you in love with him?” I blurted out.
A surprised look crossed his face, then a sad smile replaced it.
“No. I know he could be a bit gruff, but he was a lovely man. We just always had loads to talk about. It’s hard to find good friends in a village, and I will sorely miss him.”
“Do you know why he came to town this time? I heard he had just been here. He even stayed at Clarissa’s inn again, which I heard was unusual.”
The bell tinkled about the door again, drawing both of our gazes away. A tourist family had stepped inside and immediately started picking up sweaters. Probably heading out for a hike soon.
He glanced at the family, then back at the cloth in his hand. “I don’t know for sure. He said he was keen on making some changes in his life. We were supposed to meet for dinner the evening he, um, well, the night he was killed.”
He looked me in the eyes with such honesty that my heart lurched. But I had to know for sure.
“Just one more question, Jonathan. Where were you between five-thirty and six-thirty on Tuesday evening?”
He chuckled sadly and waved his hand around the room. “Here, Kat. I was here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers.”
With that, Jonathan Moore dismissed me and stepped from behind the safety net of his counter toward his customers.
I watched him for a moment from the chair. You can bet I would check out his alibi. He seemed like such a nice man. I sure hoped he wasn’t a killer.
I sighed. I never hoped someone was a killer. Except maybe Eleanor Davies.
My eye wandered quickly around the store and stopped on the scarves. What was it he had said? That Graham bought the scarf that afternoon.
I caught my breath. Graham didn’t have the purple scarf until the day he died. Eleanor had lied about not seeing him that day.
Chapter 17
I had promised Clarissa I would stop in after seeing Jonathan Moore. I rushed by the shop, threw her a quick wave, then hurried off up the hill toward Eleanor Davies’ inn. Just before I made the turn up the hill, a tall, gangly figure stopped on the sidewalk ahead of me.
My eyes narrowed and I pivoted, pointed a finger at Eleanor Davies and hurried toward her. Her eyes widened and she quickly ducked into Alex’s grocery store.
When I got to the store, I flung open the door and strode in. Standing in the entryway, I peered around me, but I didn’t see Eleanor.
Alex stood at the register, his eyebrows raised in surprise at my rush through the door. “Can I help you, Kat?” he asked.
I fiercely shook my head and started down the main aisle, my head bouncing back and forth as I looked in every aisle. When I hit the soup aisle, I froze. Eleanor Davies stood at the end of the aisle, a can of soup in her hand. If I properly identified her look, it would be guilt.
I stomped up the aisle and stopped in front of her, looking pointedly at the soup. “I thought you made your own soup, Eleanor.”
She nervously returned the can back to the shelf and clasped her hands together under the handle of her basket. “Everyone needs a shortcut now and then. What do you want, Miss McCoy?”
“You saw Edgar Elliot Graham the night he died. He didn’t buy that purple scarf until that afternoon. You couldn’t have seen him in it before.”
Eleanor gulped and looked around as if hoping someone would rescue her.
“Do you need some help, Kat?” Alex’s voice came quietly from behind me.
I felt a sudden rush of gratitude but shook my head without looking back.
“I’m just asking how Mrs. Davies knew that Edgar Elliot Graham was wearing a purple scarf the night he died if she didn’t see him. Or perhaps kill him.”
“Eleanor?” Alex stepped beside me. “What does she mean, Eleanor? Do you know something about Mr. Graham’s death that would help clear Kat?”
His voice was deep but earnest, unlike his usual sarcastic tone.
Eleanor Davies looked at the ground, then her eyes flitted between Alex and me.
“I happened by your front porch and he was lying on it. I looked closely, but he was already dead.”
Alex stepped forward. “Why didn’t you tell the constable, Eleanor?”
She looked up and away, her mouth opening and closing a few times.
“She didn’t tell the constable because she stole my flag,” I said as the realization dawned on me. “That’s right, isn’t it, Eleanor? You stole the flag I had just hammered into the ground and then you saw Mr. Graham lying on the stoop.”
Eleanor finally met my eyes, her shoulders dropping. “It was the wrong kind of sign and I knew you wouldn’t change it, so I took it. That’s when I realized Mr. Graham was lying on your steps.” Her eyes were pleading. “That hateful man had given me a bad review and I knew how it would look if I was the one to ring the police. He couldn’t be helped. He was already dead.”
Alex looked back and forth between us. “You let Kat be accused of his murder, Eleanor. How could you?”
She lifted her head defiantly, her knuckles growing nearly white with tightness around the basket handle. “I didn’t know for sure she didn’t do it, now did I?”
“You had just seen her here at the shop. How could she possibly have beaten you there, killed a man and fled?”
Eleanor and Alex stared at each other. Finally, her gaze broke and she stared at the floor.
“Yes, I see now that it would have been quite impossible for her to have killed Mr. Graham.”
Relief coursed through me. Alex must have felt it because he placed a hand on my shoulder.
“You’ll be calling the constable then.” It wasn’t a question.
Eleanor nodded. “Directly.”
I blew out a breath of relief. “Thank you, Eleanor.”
Then I turned and walked back down the aisle, Alex muttering behind me. “Don’t thank her. She nearly had you convicted of murder.”
I smiled a small smile. Happy as I was that Eleanor could help my alibi, I wouldn’t feel complete relief until Jaime told me for sure I was off the hook.
I gave Alex a quick hug, much to his chagrin, then set off back up the hill to the inn.
Some time later, a quick rap sounded at the front door. I picked up my gray work gloves and started down the hallway. Through the glass in the front door, I could see Jaime, his notebook already out and his right foot tap-tap-tapping on the front porch.
Good. That probably meant Eleanor had called him. Alex probably made her do it as soon as I had left. As much as I wanted to throw open the door to hear the good news, I was determined not to show Jaime how eager I was.
